The Redemption of the Black Sisters
by jon3776
Summary: One sister had a soul consumed by the darkest magics.Another was lost in a loveless marriage.Neither had expected the life they had ended up with and in the quiet of their souls they wanted a second chance. Now they have one. PostOOTP HarryBellaNarcissa
1. Default Chapter

**Harry Potter and the**

**Redemption of the Black Sisters**

_Chapter One_

Harry Potter was not a boy anymore.

He was not yet sixteen, and thus still a minor by the standards of his society, but in no other way could he be considered a child. He had lost the only person in his life whom he could consider a father figure, the person whom, perhaps, he loved most in the world: his Godfather, Sirius. Then, in the wake of this loss, came the abrupt discovery that he was destined to face the monster who killed his parents and, what was more, possibly die at his hands. The occurrences of the past months had exposed Harry to things no one should suffer, and it had aged him beyond his years. His eyes had seen too much to be the eyes of a child.

When he returned home for the summer, the Dursleys quickly discovered that he was in no mood for their style of care. He stayed in his room and, for the most part, they left him alone. The threats they had received from the Aurors, who had accompanied Harry at the train station, further ensured their good behavior.

This was a favorable development; the other changes in Harry's life were anything but. Weight dropped from his body with frightening consequences. His lean Quidditch-honed physique withered, he became pale and emaciated. His cheekbones stood out prominently in his face, which more closely resembled that of a skeleton than of a living person.

Harry Potter was a man dying. In a very real way, all that sustained him was the rage and hatred he felt toward virtually everyone around him.

_It's entirely my fault._

_Sirius would never have been in the Ministry of Magic if I hadn't been so easy to fool. If I weren't so gullible, he would still be alive._

_Damn me._

_No, damn Snape._

_Damn Bellatrix Lestrange_.

_Damn Narcissa Malfoy._

_Damn Fudge._

_Damn Dumbledore._

_Damn them all._

After his first month at home, Harry stopped brooding. He didn't stop because he had miraculously overcome the constant and permeating sense of guilt he felt for his own foolish actions—he had a feeling that might never go away. Nor had he surmounted the rage he felt toward those who had wronged him.

No, that was as white hot as ever.

But on Harry Potter's sixteenth birthday, something happened: he received the last will and testament of his godfather.

* * *

_I, Sirius Lawrence Lucius Black, sole Heir to the primary fortune of the Black Family, do hereby bequeath all my worldly goods to one Harry James Potter. The details of said bequest are outlined by the package contained herein._

There was indeed quite a sizable package enclosed, but it was the letter at it's front which drew Harry's attention.

_Hey, Harry._

_Now that I've gotten the legalese out of the way, I want to talk to you, man to man. As I write this letter, it is nearly Christmas time of your fifth year at Hogwarts. I can feel my death approaching rapidly. This death-sense is something that many in my family are born with—In fact, our name is derived from the 'black' visions my ancestor's received, foretelling their own demises._

_I am a man out of time, Harry. I spent one third of my life in prison and the world outside doesn't make sense anymore. That is, everything except for you and Remus—and even he is different. I don't blame him, of course. He has thirteen more years of life experience than I do, years that were stolen from me. This is all a long-winded way of saying that I don't want you to feel guilty about anything that happens. When I die, I want to do it with a wand in my hand and a smile on my face._

_I hope that, at least in some small way, the provisions of my will can bring you joy. There are some things to be revealed in my will reading at Gringotts that you won't understand at first. All I can ask, Harry, is that you give them a chance._

_I know Dumbledore won't let you leave the safety of Privet Drive, even to collect what is owed to you, so I took the liberty of including a portkey, which will transport you to the alley outside Gringotts. In the vault, there are books and things of power that have been in the possession of my family for centuries. Use them._

_I have known for some time about the prophecy, Harry, but Dumbledore advised me that it was best not to tell you of it. By the time you read this, you will know of what I speak. I know that you will triumph, that you will kill the bastard who murdered your parents, and I want you to know that I am endlessly proud of you._

_I love you, Harry._

_P.S. Don't show up to meet your parents and me for a very long time or I'll kick your ass._

_Padfoot out._

Harry sat on his bed and stared at the thick document listing all his newly acquired assets. It would be so easy to give in to despair. After all he had been through, why shouldn't he just roll over? What had the Wizarding World ever done for him? They had lifted him up on a pedestal when they wanted to bask in his heroism, and they had torn him down when they found comfort in believing his misconduct.

He shook his head_. No_. He was a Gryffindor. His parents had defied Voldemort three times, and for that they had paid the price. If he stood by and did nothing, he would render their sacrifice meaningless.

He would kill Voldemort, but not for the world.

He would do it for himself, and for his parents.

He would do it for Sirius.

The portkey activated, and in a flash, Harry was gone from Privet Drive.

* * *

_He had been ready to leave her behind._

If anyone had entered the room in which Voldemort kept his feared sadist, they would have seen an attractive—if emaciated—woman sitting on her bed with her legs pulled tight against her chest. Her features were stunning, but blank and worn. Long jet-black hair hung limp and uncared for down her back, and eyes the color of dusty lavender roses were fixed vacantly on a point outside the window. Her wand—her safety net—sat unguarded atop her dresser, across the room.

And all Bellatrix Lestrange could do was remember the flat stare of her master's red serpentine eyes as he assessed her, trapped beneath the golden statue in the hall of the Ministry. She saw his wand itch while his gaze weighed her and her uses against the danger of staying even slightly longer to free her.

She saw in his eyes that he seriously considered leaving her behind.

He didn't, in the end. He flung off the statue with a casual display of his great power and retrieved her moments before Dumbledore could retaliate against him.

She had given Him over half her life—years devoted to his study, and fifteen spent dying in Azkaban. She had estranged herself from all of her acquaintances that did not follow her elected path. She had left behind her family, choosing to be incarcerated rather than renounce Him. In His name, she had murdered her cousin, her own blood. She had given up everything for her master. Because she believe in the cause.

Muggleborn and half-bloods were destroying her culture. They filled the ranks of students at Hogwarts, while the less fertile Purebloods grew fewer every year. With every graduating class the Wizarding culture became a little more diluted, a little less than what it was. Did anyone want Britain to become another America, where the assimilation was so thorough that one could tell a wizard from a muggle only by the presence of a wand? Where purebloods shopped, and ate, and raised their children alongside their lessers?

All she wanted was to keep her culture as it was. As it had been for centuries before muggles had learned how to write the simplest words. Voldemort promised that, once he took power, he would see the Wizarding World preserved.

What had her faith brought her? Fifteen years in prison. Isolation. Desertion. Loneliness. Was this the life she had wanted? Was this what she deserved?

Bellatrix sighed and looked out the window. Life had seemed so much simpler when she was at Hogwarts. Back when she and Narcissa had been the queens of Slytherin and her husband had been strong and handsome. Pranks against muggles and the muggleborn were harmless fun. So what, if she happened to employ some spells that might be classed as lesser Dark Arts?

It had all seemed so simple back then.

She could still remember the secret thrill she received when she first began to study the Dark Arts. It had been fun, something taboo, a new exercise she could use to test herself, when school had ceased to be a challenge. Somewhere along the way, the Dark Arts became less of a lark and more of an all-consuming passion. Learning the Unforgivables was where the fun stopped. The first time she cast the pain curse, the talent for which would later bring her such notoriety, she lost her lunch. The second time it wasn't so bad, and by the third...

Bellatrix wished she could remember when she had decided the next logical step was to take the Dark Mark.

She stared at the morning sky and saw a small dot resolve itself into a Great Horned owl.

Brow furrowing, she watched as the owl flew to her window and dropped a sealed envelop on the ledge. The owl hooted once and then flew away.

Standing and crossing the room, Bellatrix retrieved the letter and walked over to her desk. She slit the envelope with a silver letter opener and, unfolding its contents, scanned the parchment in confusion. Not recognizing the script, her eyes darted to the signature and, in curiosity and surprise, Bellatrix began to read.

_Hello Bella,_

_Long time no see. I know you're wondering why I've arranged to contact you after my death. I've some things I want to say to you, and an offer I'd like to make._

_I regret the way we left off after your wedding to Rodolphus. I don't think I ever apologized for the little incident that happened then— Let me do that now._

_I'm sorry for beating the hell out of your husband on your wedding day._

_Not really, but I shouldn't have hit him._

_You used to be my favorite cousin. You were someone that I could trust, that I could rely on. Then you became involved with Him. You stopped being the fun girl I knew and became some sort of monster._

_What happened to you, Bella? I want the Bella I used to know to come back. I'm offering you one chance to redeem yourself, a chance to bring some joy back into your life. If you wish to accept, then keep holding onto this letter and whisper "SECOND CHANCES" within thirty minutes of receipt. It's a portkey, which will take you to Gringotts so you can hear my will reading. I think you'll be interested in what I have to say._

_Love,_

_Sirius P.S. And no, Bella, you cannot have my chocolate card collection._

Bellatrix laughed out-loud, for the first time since she had escaped Azkaban, with something other than malicious glee. Only Sirius would use a letter from beyond the grave to send a little dig at her husband. Bellatrix smiled at the memories of that day. She had been so happy. Sirius had gotten a little drunk and Rodolphus had made a crack about werewolves to which he took offense. She had ended up stunning Sirius with her wand, and his friends James and Remus had dragged him away before he could make a further ass out of himself.

Bellatrix ran her fingers across Sirius' signature and smiled slightly as she remembered more innocent times. She told no one, allowed no one to see beyond the frozen mask of hate that hid her inner turmoil, disguised the effects of the nightmares that had plagued her since Sirius had fallen through the veil.

She could remember the duel quite vividly. They had both fought at their highest level of skill, but without trading any lethal spells. Neither had wanted to bring the end of the other. It had been a genuine accident that sent her cousin tumbling into the unknown abyss beyond the veil.

_A second chance_.

All throughout the years she had spent as the only female in His inner circle she would have said, "Of course not." Whilst she waited in Azkaban, wrapped in her faith, she would have said "No." A few months ago when she had been freed her answer would have been "Not a chance." But now...

Her master would be furious. He would see it as a betrayal. And he would be right. It would be a betrayal, a repudiation of all that she believed in—of the trust and respect she had earned through blood, sweat, and loyalty to the cause.

But, he had been set to leave her behind.

Bellatrix Lestrange gripped the letter tightly and whispered,

"Second Chances."

* * *

_Her husband was an idiot_.

_A colossal, waste of space, idiot_.

Narcissa Malfoy sat in what was formerly her husband's study as she went over the most recent bank statements of the Malfoy Fortune.

Or what used to be the Malfoy Fortune.

Her husband's actions had left them nearly penniless. He had transferred virtually the entire cash content of the Malfoy vault to Voldemort, who needed funding for assorted nefarious deeds.

Eager to regain favor, Lucius Malfoy rushed to his master's aid, offering up vast amounts—gambling foolishly, as he had over a decade ago, that Voldemort would emerge victorious.

Of course, that left his wife and son rather pressed. They had quite a lot of valuably property, but almost no liquid assets beyond that which Narcissa had been able to secret away for her own purposes.

Narcissa was rubbing her temples and trying to make out a way to meet the upkeep on several of the hereditary properties of the Malfoy Family without dipping into her own personal savings, when her son entered the study, shaking with glee.

"Mother!" Draco practically shouted. "You'll never guess what father's done."

Narcissa stiffened. He hadn't escaped, had he? She wasn't ready for Lucius to come home. She wasn't ready for him yet!

"Oh? What might that be, Draco?" She asked, resigning herself to the inevitable.

"Father emancipated me!" Draco straightened up and attempted to project the same cold arrogance his father could effortlessly draw around himself—he fell far short of his father's mark. "I can do magic outside of school." He waved a thick paper around. "Father set up a trust for me. If he was ever detained while I was still underage, I was to be emancipated within the month. '_To seek revenge on whomever imprisoned me and restore honor to the Malfoy name._' according to the letter he sent." Draco grinned. "I am also to assume the duties of Lord Malfoy."

Narcissa blinked. He couldn't be stupid enough to set Draco free, could he? He knew how reckless and arrogant the boy was. After all, he had personally crafted Draco into what he had hoped would be an ideal heir.

The Lady of Malfoy Manor sighed and gave her progeny a weak smile. "Congratulations, my son."

Draco leveled a gaze that he meant to be intimidating. "My Lord, Mother, not son," he corrected arrogantly. "Do you know what this means, Mother?" Draco asked. "I now control the family fortune—I can finally buy that Firebolt EX to beat Potter at Quidditch."

Draco's mother arched her eyebrow. "You are glad to be an adult and Lord over the Malfoy estate merely because being such enables you to beat Harry Potter in a school yard game? Doesn't that strike you as rather juvenile, ...my Lord." She finished sardonically. "Perhaps you should think on a grander scale."

Draco lowered his eyes at the rebuke. "You're right, of course, Mother. I should be thinking of the work I can do for the Dark Lord."

Narcissa smiled thinly. "Yes, that's what I meant of course." Her son was truly a dunce. "Go, Draco," she dismissed the young Lord with a casual wave. "We will celebrate your independence later."

Draco wandered out of the room, still giddy with the implications of the news he had received.

Narcissa let out a deep sigh and started to play with a long strand of her silvery blond hair. Her son was an idiot, childish and mindless— but he was powerful. Draco was strong, magically, and he would make a useful servant for Voldemort. That is, if he could control his temper and penchant for excess.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a great grey owl, flying in through an open window. It landed on the desk before her, scattering paper everywhere, and dropped a letter affixed with the Gringotts seal into the palm of her hand.

Quizzically, Narcissa opened it and began to read.

_Hello Cissy,_

_I know it's been ages since we've talked. You know why—and it wasn't just because I was stuck in Azkaban. I did some checking on you after I escaped._

_I could not believe that you were still married to Malfoy. I think I owe James ten galleons, and if you're reading this then I've gone to pay him. I bet him your marriage wouldn't last six months. To find out now that you've been married for seventeen years upset me, to say the least. Lucius was a shitty boyfriend back in Hogwarts and I find it difficult to believe that his performance as a husband has been much better. I could always tell that you weren't happy with him, and I can only suppose you stayed out of some confused sense of duty to your family, or perhaps it was the station you found attractive._

_I know you, Cissy, better than you think I do. I've always regretted that we drifted apart after you married—I wish that hadn't happened. I know that you can't really be satisfied by the life you've led with Lucius, and if Draco is at all the way Harry described him, then I don't imagine he was a very gratifying development, either._

_I'm sure that, by now, you've received word of my death. I couldn't tell you how it happened, although I am sure it was very dramatic, as befitting a Black._

_You're probably wondering if I've any actual purpose for contacting you—I do. I want you to have another chance, Cissy, an opportunity to do things differently. This letter is a portkey; it will take you to my will reading at Gringotts. Please, go—I've prepared a second chance for you, if you want it. All you have to do is say the phrase "SECOND CHANCES" within thirty minutes of receiving this letter._

_Please accept, Narcissa. Out of whatever love you have left inside that life with Lucius hasn't wrung out of you._

_Love,_

_Sirius_

_P.S. I've taken the liberty of drawing up preliminary divorce papers, in the event that you accept my offer. You won't be married to Lucius Malfoy a second longer than you have to, if I have any say in the matter_

Narcissa set down the letter and wiped a few stray tears from her silver eyes. She had always mourned their estrangement. She had been genuinely surprised when Sirius was taken into custody. Out of all her family members, she had truly thought him least likely to join with the Death Eaters. Lucius had told her once that the Dark Lord had a number of unmarked Sleeper agents whom even the Death Eaters weren't able to identify, and she had assumed that Sirius must have been one of them.

It wasn't until much later that she realized how very wrong she had been.

Narcissa Malfoy stood up, walked from the study and, ascending the great marble staircase, made her way through the house that she had called her own for seventeen years, and yet in which she had never really felt at home. Arriving at her own bedroom she stopped, entered, and surveyed the room only briefly before crossing to her full-length mirror, where she stood, gazing at her own reflection.

"Looking beautiful as always, Mistress." Came the mirror's silvery voice.

The mirror was, of course, correct. She was still very beautiful. Narcissa was tall, as were all the Black women. Her eyes were a striking silver color and her body was still slender and firm despite a rapidly approaching middle age and the birth of one child. Her pride and joy was her waist length white-blonde hair, which was once described in the society pages as being "_equally as stunning as the silvery tresses of a veela_."

Narcissa smiled as she examined her appearance, satisfied with her appraisal. Staring at herself had always been a calming influence on the youngest Black sister. Many would think this an uncommon display of vanity, but Narcissa considered the great care and pride she took in her looks to be a smart investment. She had a fine mind and great magical skill, but Lucius had married her for two reasons: her beauty and her blood. So long as she carefully maintained her good looks, Lucius had reason to keep her and to take care of her, which suited her purposes.

At least, it used to.

Today though, she found little solace in her immaculate appearance. Sirius should not have died that way. She did her duty—as her husband commanded—when that house-elf came to her with information about the Order of the Phoenix. She reported all she had discovered, and so lay the seeds for Potter's ambush at the Ministry— but she had never expected it to lead to his death. She LIKED Sirius, after all. She admired—secretly, of course—his refusal to accept the beliefs of his family, his ability to follow his own heart, even if that meant flouting the wishes of his parents. She herself had never had the courage to stand against her father. Now he was offering her a second chance.

In the quiet of her soul, Narcissa realized she would not mind a chance to do things again. Draco had never ceased to disappoint her with his arrogance and stupidity. He certainly was not the son she envisioned bearing Lucius, all those long years ago. Of course, her marriage to Malfoy Senior also left something to be desired. He was neither kind, nor faithful, while she in turn had remained his alone.

No, her life was not as she had planned it to be, when she was married seventeen years earlier.

If she was to take her second chance, she would have to leave Lucius—

Leave the wealth and privilege of the Malfoy name.

Whatever remained, after Lucius had been sent to Azkaban.

She would have to leave her son.

In the end, Narcissa was saddened to see how easy the decision really was. Letter in hand, Narcissa took one last glance at the opulence that had for so long held her captive.

"Second Chances."

In a flash, she disappeared from Malfoy Manor.


	2. Sirius' Second Shot

**Harry Potter and the**

**Redemption of the Black Sisters**

_Chapter Two_

Authors notes-This is the beta'd version of Ch 2 courtesy of my new beta Genevieve who is great to work with. those of you who want to know about litany of Blood have no fear. I am putting on the finishing touches to 2 chapters--almost thirty pages worth of story. I hope to have it up sometime next week.

* * *

The alley outside of Gringotts was littered with the refuse of goblins and other things that were best not thought about. Harry leaned up against a grimy wall as he recovered from the effects of traveling by portkey.

Straightening his clothes, Harry walked into the bank and advanced upon the first goblin he saw.

"I'm here to see the Black vault. It was left to me in a will." Harry produced the document and presented it for the small, wrinkly creature to inspect.

The goblin's eyes widened momentarily. "Of course, sir."

The goblin led Harry to the cars that would carry them into the network beneath the bank, then commencing the long drive down along the deepest of the mineshafts toward the very eldest of the bank's vaults.

The eerie silence was broken as the goblin nervously turned to Harry,

"Sir, before I can permit you to enter the vault I have to inform my superiors of your purpose. Policy demands that there be at least two elder goblins present for any reading. I...uh...also believe that you may not be the only person present for this particular reading."

Harry nodded curtly. "Fine. I just want this over with."

The goblin gave an agitated nod. He pulled the brakes on the side of the car and Harry skidded to a stop in front of a set of massive double doors. The were fashioned from what appeared to be solid steel and barred at the center with a great crest, bearing an ornate letter "B." Harry and the goblin disembarked and the goblin pulled a master key from a cord around his neck. With it, the goblin unlocked the great vault and the double doors creaked open.

* * *

At first, she thought she was back in Azkaban.

With only a single wooden door set in the far wall, the tiny stone room greatly resembled her old cell. After a few seconds, She realized she was not in Azkaban. This room was slightly larger than her cell had been and the furniture was of better quality than what little she had had. The wooden door wasn't locked either, and the stone room was lit by smokeless torches bracketed to the walls. After the brightness of her chamber at Voldemort's headquarters, Bellatrix' eyes were irritated by the reddish light that filled the room.

_Where am I?_

Bella reached for the door handle only to hesitate. She was beginning to rethink her rather spontaneous decision to leave the safety of her Lord's lair. After all, she was a fugitive, wanted by The Ministry of Magic, and currently she had no idea where she was.

_Maybe no one has noticed I've left yet._

The raven-haired Death Eater began to consider returning to the Dark Lord's Headquarters. She had acted without thinking. Just like she always did. Her master would be furious if he found her gone without permission. Maybe she could sneak back. If no one noticed she was gone then she could return and Voldemort would be non the wiser in regards to her moment of weakness.

_No_

Bellatrix gathered her courage and decided to stay. She was just going to hear what Sirius had to say. That was all. If she didn't like it then she would go back to her Lord without regrets.

_Right_

She was reaching for the handle again when the door opened from the other side. A goblin entered the room and Bellatrix pulled back with a look of distaste.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" The creature sounded like it gargled with razors on a semi-regular basis. The Death Eater nodded tersely and the goblin backed out from the room and motioned with a twisted hand. "Come with me."

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy appeared in a bare stone room with wooden door. She drew her slender veela-hair wand and felt her wrist to make sure her silver bladed knife was still held safely by its enchanted sheath.

Father had schooled his children well on the importance of never being caught off their guard.

Narcissa swiftly realized where she was and relaxed her grip slightly on her wand. This was a private chamber in the bowels of Gringotts, one of a number of small rooms designed to be used as portkey points to allow wizards some measure of privacy in their dealings. She had often accompanied Lucius to identical rooms for many of his less reputable activities.

Realizing how vulnerable she was, Narcissa quickly sought to ensure herself some protection. The platinum-haired witch began chanting and drew several runes in the air in front of her, where they hung, traced in blue fire. Drawing her dagger, she pricked her thumb and let a drop of blood fall to the ground, anchoring the protective spell.

Ancient magic had always been a source of fascination for Narcissa and, although she had been destined to enter Slytherin since the moment she was born, she had both the mind and the temperament necessary to succeed in Ravenclaw. Her marriage to Lucius had afforded her both the time and the resources to learn rare spells such as the runic shield she had just invoked.

A Nordic rune spell, the shield had been particularly difficult to master. It was designed to last for several hours, anchored and fueled by the life force of the casting wizard. What made the shield so special was that its design was not to protect against spells but rather to protect the wizard's body against physical harm. If she was in Gringotts and it was some sort of trap then the goblins wouldn't use magic; whatever they might throw at her, she would be ready.

After all, the Slytherin motto was to always be prepared, and Narcissa wasn't one to disregard a wise lesson.

Contented with her spell, Narcissa made her way to the door when it opened from the other side. A small elderly goblin stood framed in the doorway. His face twisted into what she could only imagine was supposed to be a comforting smile.

"Narcissa Malfoy?"

The lady Malfoy drew herself up, assuming her most imperious expression. "Indeed. How may I help you?" She looked down her nose at the goblin.

_Grotesque little creatures_.

"My name is Hackclaw, Mistress. I am here to show you to the vault of the Blacks where the last will and testament of Sirius Black is to be read."

Narcissa nodded. "Very well, Goblin. You may escort me."

The goblin took her down the rough-hewn corridor. Wooden doors were set into the wall every twenty or so feet and the torches bracketed to the wall provided the only light. The stench of oil and smoke hung thick in the air and Narcissa recoiled at the smell. Each door led to a separate chamber exactly like that which Narcissa had just left. As she walked, Narcissa kept a tight grip on her wand. Ahead of her, another small door opened and a familiar figure stepped out into the tunnel. Narcissa stopped in shock.

"Bella?" Narcissa felt certain at first that her eyes must have deceived her, but standing before her was the tall and slender form of her sister.

Bellatrix stiffened and turned around, wand out. Her wand hand dropped when she saw who had addressed her.

"Sister?"

"What are you doing here?" They both asked at the same time. The pair of sisters—who had always been close—smiled at each other and Narcissa inclined her head. "Age before beauty, sister."

Bellatrix arched her eyebrow in annoyance at the very old—and irritating—joke she shared with her sister, but she answered nonetheless.

"I received a letter from Sirius about his will and was brought here by portkey. He said in his letter that he had an offer for me—can I assume that by the look on your face, you received a similar message, Cissy?"

Narcissa nodded, somewhat stunned to find that Bellatrix was here and that Sirius was offering her the same mysterious second chance. Bellatrix had done things that would have made the platinum-haired Black vomit. She had made a study of spells that frankly disgusted Narcissa and they were in support of the same cause! If Sirius was giving them both the same chance then he really was serious about wiping the slate clean for both of them. Narcissa was surprised that Bellatrix had even agreed to go to the will reading. Surprised and comforted.

If Bella was considering an attempt to change, maybe she wasn't doing the wrong thing.

* * *

Harry wandered into the Black Family vault, and looked on in wonder at the wealth stacked before him. Open chests stood filled with cut gems that glittered brightly in every color of the rainbow and spilled like worthless rocks onto the vault floor, where they shone with seemingly intrinsic light. Musty books and yellowing scrolls lay in haphazard stacks on the floor. Weapons and armor wrought in metal and dragon hide were lined up against the wall. Golden galleons filled the room in great piles, as if they had been stacked there by a dragon of old, covetously gathering his horde. Dominating the center of the room was a wide, flat stone bowl with runes carved into the side and filled with shimmering water shot with silver threads. Next to the bowl was a short pillar, like the stump of a great tree, atop of which stood three vials.

All of Harry's senses tingled with the presence of so much magic. He looked around the room. Was all this his now? Harry couldn't comprehend the level of wealth this represented. His parents had left him well off, but this...this was beyond anything he had ever thought was possible. Even rage-filled as he was, Harry couldn't help but marvel a little at everything that was before him.

Harry wandered over to the weapon stack and bent to examine an ornate sword with the name _Black_ engraved in flowing script along the blade. The head was slightly curved and, from what Harry could guess, the weapon was razor-sharp. He lifted the sword and found it was virtually weightless and as he held the blade Harry felt a slight flare of power similar to the one he experienced when he first picked up a wand. This sword just felt right in his hands.

As Harry hefted the weapon and took a few experimental swings, he heard voices coming from outside the vault doors, although they were too low for him to ascertain to whom they belonged. Harry turned around, curious to know who else was attending the reading. He could scarcely contain his shock as he recognized the first person to step through the vault doors.

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped through the doors of the vault and looked around with an incredulous expression not dissimilar to that which Harry now wore. Thinking quickly to avoid notice, Harry ducked behind a pile of gold, gripping the sword with white knuckles.

"Cissy," Bellatrix called out. "You should see this. It's amazing." She walked forward and took in the wealth of the room. Although she and her two sisters were Blacks they had been born to a secondary line of the family, one that lacked the ostentatious wealth and title of the primary line to which Sirius had been heir.

Narcissa Malfoy entered the vault after her sister and with less of a reaction. After all, she was married to a Malfoy. She was no stranger to a ridiculous level of wealth. Narcissa did arch her eyebrow a little, though. There was something different in surveying the wealth of one's own family than that of one's husband.

"It is impressive, sister." She murmured, but her attention was no longer on the riches before them. Something wasn't right. Narcissa was extremely sensitive to her surroundings, and there was something decidedly off about this vault. She gripped her wand tightly and scanned the room. They were not alone.

_There_

Narcissa saw something out of the corner of her eye by a pile of galleons. "Sister!" she hissed under her breath. Bellatrix looked up quizzically. Narcissa inclined her head toward the pile. Bellatrix' eyes lit up and she nodded in understanding. Both sisters gripped their wands and advanced on the interloper.

They walked forward and Bella was about to hiss a spell to banish the gold away when a small dark figure bolted from around the pile shouting "Reducto!"

Both sisters evaded the blasting spell and it thudded into the wall behind them, sending up a cloud of ground stone.

"Expelliarmus!" Bellatrix shouted. Narcissa followed suite with a stunning curse. A golden flash shot from Bella's wand and red bolt from her sister's. Bellatrix fully expected the intruder to fly backwards unconscious. To her surprise, the dark figure spun around and deflected both spells with the edge of his blade.

Hearing the battle, the two old goblin observers rushed through the doorway and charged the intruder. The figure sidestepped the first goblin, rendering it unconscious with the flat of his blade. Spinning around he fired a stunning curse through the sword, striking the second goblin.

In that moment, Bellatrix saw clearly her attacker. She recognized high, defined cheekbones and eyes of flashing green fire. Familiar green fire.

_Potter_

Bellatrix started to shout a body bind when Harry pointed the tip of his sword at her and hissed "Crucio". The Unforgivable surged from the tip of his blade and struck her with tremendous force.

Narcissa watched in amazement as The-Boy-Who-Lived, her son's worst enemy, shot the powerful curse at her sister. He kept the blade trained on her and his face twisted into a deranged smile. He seemed to forget all about Narcissa, focusing his stare exclusively on her writhing sister.

Struck momentarily dumb by the sheer improbability of what she was witnessing, Narcissa could only stare at Harry. She watched as he held the curse on Bellatrix, muttering insanely to himself.

"Do I mean it yet, Bitch?" Harry hissed. "DO I MEAN IT YET!" Then his voice dropped to a whisper. "All summer...it's all I've been able to think about. " Harry's voice dripped venom and his eyes gleamed madly with spite.

He jabbed the sword in the air and Bellatrix arched to the point where Narcissa thought she might snap her own back. Though she didn't scream, blood dripped from her nose and she twisted violently on the ground.

It was the sight of her sister in such pain that spurred Narcissa into action. She snapped out her stupor and she shot a stunner at Harry, one that the incensed boy wonder didn't even bother to try to evade. The spell struck him and he flew backwards into a pile of gold, unconscious, his own curse dissipating when the sword slipped from his grip.

Bellatrix struggled to her feet and wiped at a trickle of blood that leaked from her nose. Her limbs trembled in the aftereffects of the pain curse but her expression was quite different, almost pleased. Narcissa observed in amazement as her sister steadied herself, muttering, " 'Atta boy, Potter," in a tone of pride.

By this time, the goblins were waking and jabbering with each other in an unrecognizable tongue. The eldest goblin turned and spoke in English. "Why did Mister Potter attack you? He's never been anything but unfailingly polite to us in his previous visits."

Bellatrix stared at her unconscious enemy with her heavy lidded rose eyes. "You know the will we've been gathered to hear?" At the goblin's nod she said. "It was I who killed him."

Narcissa bent over, picked up the thin sword, and turned it over. "It's a good thing he didn't really know how to use this." She muttered to herself.

"Why is that?" Bellatrix looked uncomprehendingly at the object.

"This is an Assassin's Blade," Narcissa clarified. She sighed when Bellatrix gave no sign of recognizing the term. "A long time ago, about three centuries before Hogwarts was founded, the Blacks had a well deserved reputation for being wizard-assassins. The wizard-smiths of the time developed a method for imbuing metal with a magical core. The most powerful of the Blacks were given Blades instead of wands. Enchanted with the most powerful spells and forged with magical cores, they made those few nearly unstoppable. Even a child could use a sword with some proficiency and be dangerous, and a person properly trained in its use could command extreme power—at least until the founders decided to cut us down to size. Our ancestors placed higher value on social respectability than they did on primal power, so it seems tools such as this were relinquished, and set away in vaults to be forgotten."

Bellatrix snickered. "Somebody paid too much attention in Binns' class." She smiled at her younger sister and her eyes danced. "Ravenclaw," she teased

Narcissa snorted. "No, I just studied instead of snogging in broom closets with the Quidditch team."

"I seem to vaguely recall your joining me in the broom closet with the Quidditch team once or twice." Bellatrix teased.

Narcissa shifted the blade to her other hand and pointed her wand toward Harry Potter. "Yes...well, firewhiskey helped us both into trouble on more than one occasion." With a flick of her wand, she bound Harry's arms and legs with rope.

"Please Cissy, don't try to pull that better-than-thou ladylike crap." Bellatrix laughed.

Narcissa straightened her back haughtily. "I was a lady, Bella...most of the time." The two sisters, who, in their own ways, were among the most powerful witches in Britain, for a moment resembled nothing more than a pair of giggling schoolgirls. Then the moment was gone. Narcissa leveled her wand at Harry and mumbled, "Enervate."

Harry Potter's eyes snapped open and began to blaze.

* * *

_StupidStupidStupid_

Harry could not believe he had forgotten about Narcissa in his lust to torture Bellatrix. He was so focused on maintaining the Cruciatus curse that Mrs. Malfoy's presence completely slipped his mind.

His only excuse for himself was that he had spent so much time thinking about what he would do the next time he encountered Bellatrix that, when the moment arrived, he couldn't think clearly. Her words at the Ministry taunted him.

_You have to mean it wittle Potter_

Her sickening baby voice had haunted his dreams and dogged his waking thoughts. Now he was tied up in front of her and her sister. Harry tensed his muscles waiting for the torture to begin in earnest.

The tall raven-haired Death Eater walked over to where Harry lay. Despite his best efforts to wriggle away, he found himself unable to move very far. He watched her carefully, expecting to see the same mad gleam that he had seen at the Ministry. He didn't.

She looked tired and drawn. Her face was fuller now, and had gained slightly more color with time spent free from Azkaban, but she still carried the marks of someone who has suffered long imprisonment. Her voice had lost the twisted infantile quality that characterized her speech at the Ministry.

"Hello, Harry." She began softly. "I'm sorry about Sirius. I never meant for him to die—I just wanted to stun him to keep him out of fight."

Harry began to struggle at the mention of his Godfather's name. "Don't you talk about him," he hissed. "You don't get to do that." Harry's voice got louder. "You hear ME. YOU DON'T GET TO SAY HIS NAME," He shouted at the top of his lungs.

Bellatrix flinched in guilt and reflexively brought up her wand but she refrained from cursing Harry.

One of the elderly goblins stepped forward. "You must calm yourself Mr. Potter. Both Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Lestrange are here at the behest of the deceased. Even if you are the primary beneficiary of this estate, Gringotts will remove you from the vault with whatever force necessary, unless you can control yourself."

Harry shook his head. "Sirius would never let those—

"Actually that's not accurate Harry," They were interrupted by a hauntingly familiar voice. Narcissa whirled around, summoning her silver knife directly into her hand while lifting up her wand in the other. When she saw from where the voice had come she stopped short.

"Sirius?" She asked in disbelief.

The form of Sirius Black was indeed before them, rising out of the liquid resting in the great stone bowl. He looked perfectly normal down to his feet, which disappeared into the strange liquid.

"In the flesh...sort of." He looked down at himself and smiled mischievously. He gaze shifted over to Harry, who still lay trussed up on the ground. "Harry, they are both here because I want them to be. Let them alone...for me. At least for a little while."

Harry looked from the apparition of Sirius to the Black sisters and nodded slowly. One of the goblins bent down and snapped the ropes. Harry stood up and rubbed his chafed wrists. In awe, Harry walked forward and lifted his hand to touch Sirius, but the apparition moved away from his reach.

"That's not the best idea," he warned the teenager.

"I miss you Sirius." Harry mumbled softly. He wiped at his eyes and shot a fearsome look at Bellatrix, daring her to say something—anything about him showing weakness. The Death Eater said nothing. In fact, she looked both awed and saddened herself.

"I know you do puppy." Sirius smiled down at Harry. "Like I said in the letter: Don't be sorry I'm gone. I'm with your mum and dad now. And you've got miles to go before you join me on the other side."

Harry nodded weakly.

"There are reasons why I asked Bella and Cissy here," Sirius said, inclining his head at each cousin in turn. "And I'll get to that in a minute but first I have to explain some things to all of you. Things I couldn't talk about in those letters."

"What is this anyway?" Bellatrix asked. "This doesn't look like any pensieve I've ever seen."

"It's the Black Pool." Sirius answered. "A powerful scrying pool and pensieve that's been in the family for generations. I was able to leave a duplicate set of memories in here so I could talk to all of you about certain things. For all intents and purposes, I am Sirius Black, as he existed around November 1996. There is enough magic to power my memories one time before they fade. Sooo," Sirius smiled, "I have to get this right the first time."

"First Harry." The memory of Sirius turned to his godson. "I know you received a packet detailing the monies and properties that, as my heir, you now control—it doesn't make mention of several things. The Blacks are an ancient pureblooded family and, as such, we have a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards, as part of the British Delegation. We control significant holdings in France and Scotland—what you must understand is, the modern wizarding world retains many customs of...less enlightened times, some downright feudal. You have subjects now, Harry, vassals. As sole heir to the Black estate you also acquire the title of Lord Black, and a seat on the Wizengamot." Sirius smiled mischievously. "If you don't use it to give Fudge an ulcer then I will personally haunt you forever." His face saddened again. "The Blacks haven't done much good with their wealth and power. You have a good heart Harry, and I believe that you can redeem my family name." Sirius looked down, almost ashamed. "I have a great favor to ask of you Harry...I don't want you to accept out of a sense of guilt or obligation. Only do this if you truly feel you can."

Harry stepped forward eagerly. "Name it Sirius. Whatever it is, I'll do it."

Sirius shook his head sadly. "I doubt that, Harry, but still..." He turned towards Bellatrix and Narcissa who had retreated a short distance to allow Harry and Sirius some space. "You two, come over here. It's time to hear about your second chance." Both sisters walked over to Sirius slowly, curious as to what he had planned.

"Second chance!" Harry shouted. "What's with you and Dumbledore? He offers Snape—who is the worst teacher _ever_—a second chance, and now you... They got you KILLED Sirius! You're dead because of them. That bitch," Harry pointed at Bellatrix, "fired the curse, and _she_ gave them the idea in the first place. They don't deserve—

"They do, Harry." Sirius said softly. "I know them better than you do...after all, they are family. They've been twisted by their upbringing and corrupted by the Dark Arts. They used to be good people." Here Sirius smirked, "Well not good...they are Slytherins...but they weren't evil. Not always. Bella used to be my favorite cousin. When my mother would go on her tirades I would floo to Bella's and she would hide me until mother calmed down. We used to have the biggest fights over the pureblood doctrine, but no matter how we disagreed we were still family—afterwards we would laugh over ice cream."

Harry looked at Bellatrix. He tried to picture her, young and carefree, eating ice cream and laughing with Sirius Black, but failed. Her heavy lidded face was studiously blank, though Harry thought that perhaps he could see a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"That was a long time ago, Siri." She whispered softly. "That girl died before I finished Hogwarts.

"No she didn't, Bella." Sirius returned just as softly. "She just got lost."

Harry looked between from Sirius to Bellatrix, shocked at the tone she was taking with the memory of his godfather. Harry knew sincerity when he heard it, and the Death Eater was sincere. He shook his head and tried to dislodge the intruding flicker of sympathy for the woman.

Sirius turned to Narcissa. "At least you didn't become a Death Eater. You only married one."

"Hey," Narcissa said defensively. "I was not aware that Lucius was a Death Eater when I accepted him."

Sirius laughed, "Of course you were, Cissy. You've always been the smart one. You knew exactly who and what Lucius Malfoy was when you married him. You just didn't care. He was rich, handsome, and pureblooded. All the things a Black should expect in a husband." He sobered. "Did your marriage make you happy? Did your son?"

Narcissa shook her head slowly. "Not especially, but I endure. Lucius treats me well enough."

Sirius leaned forward. "Is that what you want, Cissy? A husband who treats you well enough? I remember when you used to want more, when you wanted love. Even if you didn't tell your parents, you told me." Sirius smirked, " Well, and I read your diary."

"SIRIUS," Narcissa shouted. She stepped forward, furious, when she realized she was about to curse a memory. Narcissa shook her head softly and gave a small smile. "Blacks don't marry for love. We marry out of duty. I did mine."

The image of Sirius started to pace back and forth. "That is exactly my point. You both filled the Slytherin mold, did your duty to the family. You were placed in the correct house, held the right beliefs. You studied the dark arts and married the designated men...you did all that was expected of you, but you overlooked one thing: happiness. That's what I wanted for you...what I've always wanted for you both."

The memory of Sirius stared at the pair of women. "I want you to be in a house where you won't have to watch your back. I want you to make friends with people whom you can trust. I want you to meet men who will bring out the best in you instead of the worst. That's what your second chance will make possible."

"It's a little late for that." Narcissa informed the memory drolly. "Unless you've a time turner floating in that bowl."

Sirius smiled at Narcissa. "No, if I had a time turner that could go back that far, there are other things I would change first," and his glance flickered ever so briefly towards Harry. "I have a different proposition for you."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. " Enough with the theatrics, Sirius. Just get on with it."

The image of Sirius sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "No appreciation for the subtle arts," he mumbled. "Fine. In October, I had an idea. I discussed it with Albus Dumbledore and he seemed to think it was feasible. Albus had in his possession several doses of the Elixir of Life created by the Philosophers Stone. He and Snape," at the mention of the greasy-haired potions master Sirius' face twisted into a grimace, "managed to develop a new variant of rejuvenating potion, with the Elixir at its base. Powered by such a potent substance, the potion will revert the drinker permanently back a dosage-determined length of time, and then allow him or her to age normally from that point. I originally planned to use the potion myself; I intended to return to Hogwarts as a student, so I could keep an eye on Harry and get another chance to live. However, when I began to have visions of my approaching death I realized this was not to be. So, I decided to make up two doses, and offer them to you. You both deserve a second chance, and since I'm not going to get one..." Sirius shrugged. "I talked with Dumbledore. If you drink the potion you will revert to the age of sixteen, and he's agreed to enroll you in Hogwarts... as Gryffindors. You'll both have a chance to broaden your horizons, to make friends different from the untrustworthy acquaintances available to you in Slytherin. You could even meet some muggleborns and half-bloods, and maybe change your mind about some things."

Both women were stunned. Redo Hogwarts? Go back to school, and be in a different house. Live a different life...The same thoughts echoed through both of their minds.

Could they really do it?

While the two Black sisters were contemplating this, Sirius turned again to Harry. "There is a third potion, Harry: one for you. They have both studied the Dark Arts. That changes a person, makes them less able to feel good things. They need an anchor if they are to truly change and be better people for it. They need someone with whom they can share an empathetic link, to help break through the darkened parts of their souls." Sirius looked closely at Harry. "You are a good person, Harry. Maybe the best I have ever known. I know how you grew up, and, in spite of that, your capacity for love..." The image of Sirius seemed to have wet eyes. "...Your capacity for love is something truly amazing. I know Dumbledore and the rest of the Order are just as amazed by you as I am. If you drink the potion, you'll gain an empathetic link to these women and, in a very real way, will become their conscience. The potion will also repair some of the damage done to you by the Dursley's imposed 'diet'—so maybe you'll reach your full adult growth potential—as well as fix your eyesight, and keep you in nearly perfect health for a couple of years."

Harry shook his head. "I can't do that Sirius. I can't be anyone's conscience, least of all theirs. I'm a wreck. All I can feel is anger and hatred for them, and Dumbledore...

"And me." Sirius finished softly.

"Why did you have to act so recklessly?" Harry shouted. "Why couldn't you have just done what Dumbledore wanted?"

Sirius was quiet for a moment. "I don't know what I did that led to my death, Harry. Remember, I'm just a memory. What I do know is that if I did it for you then I died with a light heart. I can't think of anything I would have rather died doing Harry, than rescuing you."

Harry's eyes shone and he forgot about his audience. "I can't do what you want me to do Sirius. I don't think I can be that person anymore." He whispered.

"You don't have to try Harry." Sirius replied. "Nothing you could ever do would change the goodness of your heart. Please Harry, if you have ever listened to anything I've said, listen to this: They're amazing women, and they are worth saving. Give it some time—you'll see what I mean."

Harry thought on this for a second and then turned around. Bellatrix and Narcissa were talking quietly with each other. "So," he asked, "Are we going to do this thing or what?"

Bellatrix gaped. "You're willing to actually—

Harry nodded curtly. "I've learned my lesson about not listening to the people I love." He glanced quickly at Sirius. "I'm not going to make that mistake again. Sirius says you're worth saving; I'll take him at his word. So?" he asked again. "Are we going to do this, or not?"

Both women nodded. Bellatrix spoke softly, "I've lost fifteen years of my life. I'd like it back."

Narcissa smiled sadly. "My son loathes you, Potter. That tells me all I need to know about your character."

As the three walked over to the pillar upon which the potions stood, Sirius spoke. "Remember: once you do this, there is no going back. Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange won't exist anymore. You're starting fresh, with no husbands and, more importantly, no Voldemort."

"We get it," Bellatrix said sharply. "Why do you think we're doing this?"

The image of Sirius was beginning to fade. "I don't have a lot of power left. Drink the potions together. Then gather up whatever treasures you want, apparate back to Number 4 and wait for Dumbledore. He'll contact you."

They all nodded and picked up the labeled potions. Harry looked at the two women who would soon be his age and said, "This is your last chance to back out."

The pressure was wearing on Narcissa and she snapped. "Are you backing out, Potter? Because we are not."

"Fine. On three, we drink." All three opened their vials and a rotten stench wafted forth. Harry made a face but resolved that, however awful it was, it could not taste worse than Polyjuice.

He was wrong. The thick unpleasant mixture was almost painful to ingest, and Harry fought to keep from vomiting. He could see from the looks on the women's faces that they were experiencing similar discomfort.

After they had emptied the bottles, the three sat down, waiting for something to happen. After a minute something did.

They fell to the ground, clutching their stomachs, and found themselves crippled by a wracking pain as their bodies started to change.


	3. The Secrets of Vault Black

Harry Potter and The Redemption of the Black Sisters

Part 3

By Phoenixgod2000

* * *

"MOTHER?" Draco Malfoy bellowed.

The new young Lord Malfoy wandered about his mansion yelling for his mother. He had been trying for at least twenty minutes to find her inside the warren of rooms that made up the ancestral home of the Malfoy's. He wanted to use the Malfoy seal in order to go shopping via Owl Order and she had it last.

Then Draco realized he could simply summon the Seal to him with a simple spell now that he was emancipated. After all, he could use magic now. Smiling, Draco drew his wand and shouted "Accio!"

After a moment Draco could hear the sound of the Seal zipping down the corridors until the great emerald and silver seal flew into the room and landed onto the soft carpet in front of the platinum haired Slytherin. Draco picked up the hereditary seal of the Malfoy clan and wandered in his fathers study.

He noticed a pile of scrolls with the Gringotts seal stacked on the desk. Draco didn't even look at the scrolls, trusting his mother to handle the finances for the family. Draco simply sat down and pushed them off to the side. He wrote out an order for a Firebolt EX and the latest dragon hide seeker pads. He had pleaded with his mother to buy them earlier in the summer but she denied him. Now that he was emancipated he could go over her head and simply order them on his own with the Malfoy family funds.

Finishing the order, he rolled it up tight and used a melting charm to melt some wax. Dipping the Malfoy Seal into the green wax, he pressed it to the edge of the order form and the enchanted seal left a perfect wax imprint on the scroll.

Whistling a little, Draco skipped down to the Owlry in order to send off the scroll, all thoughts of his missing mother gone in the anticipation of new things to play with.

* * *

Harry was the first to wake up of the three. He blinked his eyes and saw a blurry shape leaning over him. reaching up, Harry felt for his glasses. discovering he still had them on, the boy who lived pulled them off and the indistinct shape resolved itself into the concerned visage of a goblin.

A concerned look on a goblin comes perilously close to terrifying so when Harry blanched slightly the goblin took no offense. He accepted the outstretched creatures hand and stood up.

Harry took a self inventory. He realized he could see perfectly without his glasses and he wanted to know if anything else had changed. He took a good look at himself trying to spot any differences. He was sad to see very little at first. Maybe he was a little taller—it was hard to tell beneath Dudley's hand me downs. His muscles could be a little more defined than before. But again that could be wishful thinking.

By this time Bellatrix and Narcissa were groaning and starting to come around. Bellatrix stood up, stretching muscles that were much more defined than before. She extended a hand to her sister.

"How long have we been out?" Bellatrix asked.

Harry stared at the two of them. "I...I don't know." He muttered. They were beautiful.

They shouldn't be beautiful.

Evil like them should be ugly, easy to spot.. Like Voldemort. But then that was the whole point of this exercise, wasn't it. To give them a chance to be something other than evil.

_Damn it Sirius_

Both women—now girls—noticed how Harry was looking at them. Neither were strangers to the stares of men, after all, Black women were blessed with many gifts, among which was extraordinary beauty. They carefully looked at each other, taking in the changes they saw in the other. Bellatrix conjured a mirror for Narcissa, and the blond Slytherin returned the favor with hand mirror conjured for Bellatrix. Each shot the other a small smile and as one they paused to admire themselves in the small mirrors

Narcissa's changes were far from severe. Her sharply drawn features were softened with just a hint youth. Her face's sharp planes were less extreme, her cheeks fuller. Her silky hair remained the same silvery blond waterfall that she prided herself on. Her eyes seemed to shine with more light than they had. She was as tall as she ever had been, and even more slender than before. Despite her thinness, she seemed stronger, leaner than she used too. It appeared as if during her youth she had been an athlete of some sort. She was still noticeably Narcissa. Merely a more youthful Narcissa.

Bellatrix had undergone far more dramatic changes than Narcissa. Her tall form had been emaciated thanks to her fifteen years of prison. Her face had been nearly skeletal and her muscles had wasted into near nothingness. All that changed.

Her face, when not ravaged by time and prison was a strong one. Her nose was proud and aristocratic. Her jaw as strong and defined. Her purple eyes shone with health. Her long ebony tresses possessed a shimmering sheen that had disappeared only months into her incarceration. Her tall and emaciated form was now statuesque and athletic. Her shoulders were broad and strong, yet her waist was slender. When she lifted the sleeve of her robe to check if her Dark Mark was still present (it wasn't), Harry was surprised to see how toned her arm had become.

she was more than just physical beauty, though. Youthful Bellatrix possessed a seductive aura about her, a presence that cause Harry Potter—one of her worst enemies--to admit something to himself that he didn't think was possible

Bellatrix Lestrange was quite possibly the most desirable woman Harry had ever seen.

An admission that he hated to make with all of his heart

"Well Potter, how long have been out?" she asked again.

Harry shook his head distracted by the pair. "I don't know. I just woke up myself."

The goblin spoke up. "Mistress, you have been unconscious for approximating seventeen grognarks."

"In English goblin." Narcissa demanded. "I don't speak your tongue."

"Fifteen minutes ma'am," the goblin corrected with his head down. "The reading said that we should wait until you woke up and then we would leave to allow you privacy to go through Lord Blacks new possessions."

"Well," Narcissa said icily. "We have woken up. You may now leave." She told the goblin in a tone that brooked no argument.

The goblin quickly bowed and left leaving the three of them alone together. They stared at each other none of them quite knowing how to act around each other. Something prickled the back of Harry's mind and somehow he was able to label it nervousness, before it abruptly ended.

"Was it absolutely necessary to talk to him like that?" Harry eventually asked. He motioned with his thumb back towards the vault door.

"Goblins are our inferiors, Potter." Narcissa instructed patiently. "they can't use magic well and they are greedy little creatures obsessed with gold."

"Your son is a greedy little creature obsessed with gold and incapable of using magic. But I don't go around saying that to his face...except for that once." Harry replied with a mean smile.

Narcissa smiled. "Perhaps Draco qualifies." She admitted softly. She then frowned "but still, he is a more dangerous opponent than you give him credit for."

"No, he isn't." Harry disagreed. "But that's not important. What is important is you can't go around treating people like that." Harry said. "There are lots of half-bloods and muggleborn in Gryffindor. If you're going to join my House, you can't go on about the pureblood stuff."

Both women made faces at each other but agreed reluctantly.

Harry motioned at the vast wealth that surrounded him. "So...what should I take. Sirius said that there were lots of books and magical objects which could help against Voldemort, but I don't know what half this stuff is." Harry felt flickers of fear along both empathic links when he spoke the dark lords name.

"Don't say his name, Potter." Bellatrix hissed. "You think its bravery to say his name as if it were nothing. You _know_ nothing. You have no idea what the Dark Lord can do. What he has done." She finished in a whisper that seemed equal parts rage and fear.

Harry flipped up his hairline to reveal his scar. "I think I do, actually." Harry retorted. "Its not like we've ever dueled or he's been inside my head...except, he has. Just 'cause you're a coward doesn't mean I am."

Young Bellatrix stepped forward and grabbed the boy who lived by the collar. "You shouldn't speak of cowardice till you've-

"Stop Bella." Narcissa ordered sharply. "lets just go thought the treasure and go with Harry," she continued more softly.

Bella nodded sharply and waded in to the treasure hoard.

Harry started to follow her but Narcissa held him back slightly. "Be more careful what you say to my sister, Potter." The blond whispered fiercely. "She has suffered for her beliefs, just as you have suffered for yours. And you would be surprised to hear how much."

* * *

Narcissa gave the Black Sword to Harry and explained to him what it was. Together they found the silver and obsidian inlayed scabbard that housed the blade and he strapped it to his waist. The scabbard contained an extra dimensional space which contained most of the length of the blade, so it was small enough for Harry to wear beneath his robes if he wanted to. Narcissa was also the one who discovered four more Black blades and their scabbards.

They put the spare weapons in a magical sack that Bellatrix found. The sack was about the dimensions of a muggle backpack but was larger on the inside than on the outside. They also dumped an a number of Galleons and Sickles so the women could by some necessary items later since they were both effectively cut off from most of their resources.

Bellatrix found nine sets of dragon scale and mithiril armor. The protective gear was enchanted to alter for both size and gender of the wearer. Narcissa explained that the armor was highly resistant to most curses, physical weapons and was enchanted to be light and flexible so a warrior lost none of their maneuverability. She said that the armor looked to be of dwarven craftsmanship—so it was old indeed. All of the sets went into the sack.

Harry was shifting around money and jewels looking for anything of note. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bellatrix find a small black box. He wondered what was in the box for a while as he sifted through the valuables he had just inherited. He moved one pile of gold away to reveal an object that caused all thoughts of mysterious black boxes to fly out his mind. Beneath the stack of gold he just moved was a small stone basin with runes engraved along the lip. Unlike the ones he saw Snape and Dumbledore use, this one was covered with a stone lid that prevented Harry from seeing if any memories were stored inside.

Something told Harry that this was an important object and he lifted the surprisingly heave penseive and carried it over to the magical sack. He felt liquid shifting inside the container and knew that it had someone's memories—although whose, he couldn't tell. He hesitated, though, when he got to the bag of holding.

Bellatrix walked up to him holding onto the small black box. "What's wrong?"

Harry motioned to the covered pensieve. "I want to take this but the memories could spill."

"No they won't." Bellatrix disagreed. "This is a traveling pensieve. The lid is charmed to stay shut. Look." She grabbed the container and flipped it over. The lid stayed firmly attached to the bowl.

"Uhh...thanks." Harry muttered. Shifting gears he asked, "What's in the box?"

Bellatrix held it up. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "It has the personal mark of Androlphus Black, so it's important."

"And he is..." Harry asked impatiently.

"Androlphus was the last truly great Black patriarch." Narcissa clarified as she strolled up to examine the container. "He was an alchemist and politician of legendary repute about six hundred years ago. He led the Black family for almost two hundred years before dying...from dragon fire _not _old age. He outlived four wives and had more than a two dozen children. It's because of him that there are secondary Black lines in nearly every country in Europe and on every continent. The Black Bloodline stretches from Brazil to Thailand thanks to Androlphus." Narcissa held Harry's gaze with seriousness. "You are the last primary heir to a pureblood line that is one of the most expansive on the planet. It will be to you that Blacks from every corner of the planet will look to. I hope you take that obligation with the same seriousness that Androlphus did. We were dying line after the founders killed most of Blade wielding scions of the family. It was a slow death, but a death nonetheless. He single handedly brought us back into prominence, and made us strong again."

"Do you know what's in the box?" Harry asked, attempting to push this new obligation from his mind.

"No, but you can easily find out." Narcissa replied. "I believe the box is charmed to open to the current head of Family Black. From the amount of dust on the box, I doubt its been opened since Androlphus sealed it shut."

Harry put his hand on the small black box barely bigger than a ring box. As soon as his hand rested on the small container an audible click echoed through the vault and the lip popped out slightly. Sensing something momentous was about to occur, Harry lifted up the lid of the box to reveal the contents inside.

"Merlin!" Narcissa breathed in stunned recognition.

"What is it?" Bellatrix stared at the small object that rested in the box. It was a simple irregularly shaped rock, reddish in color. She was surprised when Harry, instead of her sister, answered her.

"It's a Philosopher's Stone."

* * *

Draco drifted lazily over his personal Quiddich pitch on his nimbus 2001. The air passed by his face and he closed his eyes, imagining that he was a dragon in truth instead of in name. He imagined the creak of leathery wings catching thermal updrafts that could carry a dragons bulk above the ground. He imagined possessing gnashing teeth and razor claws capable of crushing the skull of his green eyed nemesis.

He was just beginning to imagine what breathing fire would be like when the sharp report of a stunner shot by his head. Eyes snapping open Draco fumbled with his wand while putting his broom into a steep dive.

Far below him a wizard waited with folded arms.

* * *

_The Dark Lord wants one of those_

The thought passed unbidden through the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange. She quickly squashed the thought with ruthless abandon. That was the old her. She wanted a second chance. A chance to live a life for herself and not someone else. She didn't owe the dark lord any more duty.

She'd already given him too much.

Narcissa was the first to grasp the potential of the magical object that rested in Harry's hands.

"Harry," she whispered. "do you have any idea what this can do?"

"Well yes." He said sarcastically, "I do. Wealth. Immortality...making me, if that's possible, a for every other dark wizard in Britain other than Voldemort. Yeah." He mocked.

"This is the most sought after object in the world, Potter. I would think you would appreciate what kind of position this puts you in."

"A better question," he interjected, "would be what the hell is your forefather doing with one of these? I thought there was only supposed to be one and Dumbledore destroyed it."

Narcissa shrugged and looked to Bellatrix. The raven haired ex death eater snorted. "I'm lucky I recognized his seal. You're the scholar, Cissy. Not me."

Harry snapped the box shut. "I'll show it to Dumbledore. Maybe he can figure out what to do." He hated having to go to the old man for anything after all he kept from Harry, but what choice did he have? This was well outside of Harry's experience. He put the small box into one of his overly large pockets and started to look around. "Have we gone through everything?"

"Everything but the books." Narcissa motioned to the stacks of books around the room. "Some of these are rare. _Really_ rare." She finished in admiration.

Harry looked at Narcissa with some surprise. The sheer joy that seemed to fill her voice at the thought of the stacks of musty books surprised him. the pulse of excited emotion that pricked the back of mind caused a nearly infectious response in him. It was something that he would have expected from Hermione but to hear it from the rather aristocratic and snobbish Narcissa Malfoy was a shock. He watched, a slight smile playing about his mouth unconsciously, as Narcissa made her way, almost reverently, to the stacks of books and began going through them.

After a moment she looked up. "Sister? Potter? Why aren't you helping?"

Bellatrix laughed. "You looked like you were having so much fun sister, how could I interrupt that?" She and Harry glanced at each other and smiled briefly—before they remembered who the other person was—they both looked away rather quickly after that.

After that embarrassing moment, they both stepped forward and starting going through the small library that was contained within the Black vault.

* * *

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Draco screamed as he set his Nimbus onto the ground. He hopped off and aimed his wand at black—and fashionably—garbed wizard in front of him. "You could have killed me with that stunner."

The wizard remained expressionless although Draco thought he could detect a hint of amusement in his dark blue eyes. "If I had," he drawled, "it merely would have proven you completely unsuitable for the mission the dark lord wants me to train you for."

"Mission?" Draco echoed. "What are you going on about?"

"I'm hurt." The blued eyed wizard mocked. "You don't even recognize your Godfather? I know I've been gone a while," and he held his hand to his chest, "but you wound me to the quick."

"Andreas Nott?" Draco asked. He knew the name of his godfather and seen a few photos of his godfather, but nothing else. This wizard with blue eyes and distinguished gray streaks in his ebony hair could have been an older version of his godfather but there were many ways to duplicate a persons appearance. "prove it." Draco challenged.

Andreas sighed. "_Crucio_." Draco fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The wizard held the spell on him and walked in a circle around the prone boy. "We do not have time for this, _boy_. Do not play the hard Slytherin with me. It doesn't suit you. For now." The older wizard sneered. "The Dark Lord wants me to train you personally. So I will. I will turn my pale, spoiled, petulant godson into a servant the dark lord may be proud of." He lowered the spell, leaving Draco gasping on the ground, fighting to get up. "Are we in agreement?"

"Yes." Draco wheezed painfully. His face was blotchy, red, and veins stood out on his forehead like the lines of a map.

Andreas Nott smiled thinly, all trace of his jovial manner gone. "Excellent. The first thing we are going to work on is your appalling pain threshold." He aimed his wand at the young Slytherin, who had struggled painfully to his knees.

"_Crucio_."

* * *

Harry held up a book written in Latin and yellowed with age. "Take this? Translation spell won't work on it for some reason."

"we're not taking that." Narcissa flickered her gaze over the spine of the book before making the pronouncement.

"why not."

"Because cleaning spells dated back to the roman empire won't be all that helpful." She snapped back.

Narcissa had been getting steadily more annoyed as the three worked their way through the stack of tomes. Most were incredibly useless. Many were simply old, out of date books whose spells had long since been replaced with easier to cast modern versions. Most of the truly useful books were in languages other than English and Narcissa had to teach Harry how to do a translation spell and mask his wand signature, so he could help go through the tomes, but the quick and dirty translation spell she taught Harry was hardly perfect

Narcissa's pale eyebrows shot toward her hairline as she performed a swift translation spell on the Chinese spell book covered in jade green silk with a gold leaf lotus imprinted on the cover. The lines of the traditional calligraphy unfurled themselves and rearranged into English lettering. She traced her fingers over the spine and murmured "Amazing. This is a book on how to train someone in internal alchemy." At the confused glances of the others, she clarified. "You can duplicate the effects of potions by controlling your own natural magic and the humors of your body. Only a few eastern wizards know the secret and they hardly ever teach anyone. And they _never_ write down the instructions. If this is genuine..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "If this is genuine, this could be one of the most valuable books in existence."

Bellatrix held up a book of her own. "This is even better," she giggled, definitely not resembling the hardened death eater she had been two hours ago. "An English translation of Arcane Sex—the erotic magic of the east." She shoved it off to the side. "this could be helpful...if you could find someone to participate willingly." She whispered to Harry lasciviously.

Harry reddened but asked his question anyway. "What good would sex magic be? Besides the...umm...obvious."

"Read and find out." Bellatrix teased.

Harry shook his head, unwilling to get into a flirtatious argument with his godfather's killer. Instead he picked up a book covered in some kind of pebbled reptile skin in a multitude of colors making it resemble a book covered in smooth jewels. Opening it he found a series of squiggles. While not any sort of language he could recognize at first, after a moment the smooth lines began making sense while not actually becoming any different. Surprised, he realized that book was written Parseltongue. It was a spell book written entirely in the language of serpents. He set serpentine spell book off to the side. It could definitely be useful.

Narcissa found several books on Animagus transformations and rare magical abilities such as metamorphing and the Sight. She set them off to the side. It would be interesting to test the boy who lived for rare powers. The dark lord had a number of unusual abilities and she wondered if Harry had gotten any of them besides Parselmouth. A series of alchemical texts swiftly joined the other books in the pile. Several of them written by Androlphus Black himself

"Useless." Bellatrix flung a slender book over her shoulder roughly.

"what was that?" Narcissa asked.

"Book on Occulomancy," the dark haired sister answered.

"Let me see that." Harry demanded. "I need to learn to be an Occulmens."

"Bellatrix snorted. "I can teach you that Potter far more effectively than some book."

"You can?" He replied in surprise.

"Of course." She made a face. "How do you think I survived in Azkaban for fifteen years with my sanity intact?"

Harry looked away and carefully studied the walls of the vault. "Actually...I sorta didn't think you had." Pain and embarrassment flashed down his empathetic link from Bellatrix before the emotions shut off savagely, which he now recognized as a mental shielding trick.

Bellatrix was silent and stared at Harry for a long time. The young woman who had been laughing about sex magic a few minutes before disappeared and the ex-criminal reappeared. Her eyes seemed to reflect a thousand emotions. But all that came out was a soft, "I can see how you could make that mistake." Silently, she handed over the slender book to Harry, who placed it in the take pile.

Wreathed in silence she went back to work and the three continued to sort through the books of magic.

* * *

Harry was pleased. Thanks to Narcissa's expertise at magic and scholarship, they were able to whittle down the stacks of books to a little more than a dozen books. Any one of them could hold the secret to beating Voldemort.

Besides the book of Chinese alchemy and near eastern sex magics, there were several books on war magics. Not just simple battle spells, the books included ancient and powerful war spells that required multiple wizards to work in concert to cast. Harry also walked away with a book on summoning—the art of bringing demons and elemental creatures from across the threshold of this world as well as a slender notebook containing the names of such beasts that had been compacted to work for the Black Family by Black summoners in ages past. Narcissa picked up several books on warding and immortality spells and Bellatrix found several books on rare potions and the art of magical crafting.

Harry had found a slender book that neither girl had noticed. It was the personal journal of Androlphus Black. Harry thought it might be charmed so that only the current head could find it. Something inside of him made him pick up the journal and he knew that he would read this book before all others.

All the books, along side a mound of galleons and sickles rested in the magical sack. Also in the bag was the armor, swords, sheathes, and the unnamed pensieve. The Philosophers Stone was safely concealed in Harry's oversized jeans.

Harry lugged the sack to the double doors of the bank vault. Bellatrix and Narcissa followed at a slower pace, suddenly reluctant to leave the safety of the vault. He had nearly reached the exit of the vault when several goblins appeared and blocked his exit. The short creatures indicated Harry and the women should stop.

The oldest goblin in the group had a number of documents clutched in his twisted hand. Apologetically he began to speak in a gravelly tone, "I am sorry sir, but the misses need to sign their divorce papers. The previous Lord Black had then drawn up in case they took the potion. Since it is obvious that you have..."

Bellatrix and Narcissa stopped up short. Divorce papers? Both sisters shot slightly scared looks at the other.

Narcissa was the first to reach for the legal documents and if her hand trembled slightly as she did so, no one was uncouth enough to mention it. "Quill." She ordered the goblins imperiously.

The goblin handed over the sheaf of papers and Narcissa flipped through them. They appeared to be a standard divorce agreement. She held out the quill and her hand paused over the line. This was it. She would cease being Narcissa Malfoy and go to back to Narcissa Black.

With a slight flourish she scrawled her name across the bottom and shoved the papers back into the goblins waiting claws.

The goblins next handed a packet over to Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix took the papers and the quill with shaking hands. Bellatrix could still remember her wedding day to Rodolphous. The flowers, her gown, the rows of Blacks and Lestrange's from all over Europe—all there to celebrate her marriage to a powerful pureblooded family. And her husband had been so handsome on that day. As dark as the magic she was already practicing, Bellatrix still had enough light left in her to want ordinary things with her husband, like a child. A possibility that was sacrificed on the altar of duty. Rodolphous was back in Azkaban and he was still faithful to the Dark Lord.

While she had betrayed him.

She was a traitor. Rodolphous would kill her if he found out what she did. Just as she would have killed him had he abandoned the following they had sworn their lives to more than twenty years before.

Without looking at the documents she scrawled her name across the bottom and walked off.

Narcissa watched her sister walk away while she and Harry stayed in front of the goblins. "Can you give the goblins and I a second alone, Harry? I need to close out a personal vault."

Harry looked about to argue but thought better of it. He nodded sharply and simply said, "I'll wait outside for you."

After Harry had left the vault Narcissa looked at the goblins and spoke. "I wish to close out vault 456. I want half of the gold to go into the Malfoy family vault and the other half to be deposited into this vault."

The goblins conferred with each other momentarily before the eldest goblin smiled, revealing a mouth full of twisted yellow teeth. "We can do this for you mistress. But if you wish the transaction to remain secret, there will be a large fee. Perhaps twenty percent?"

Narcissa frowned but nodded reluctantly. It was important that the transaction remain hidden. Draco couldn't know who the money was from. She needed to just disappear and it may prove possible to track her through monetary transactions

The recently divorced Narcissa Black loved her son. He had proven to be disappointing to Narcissa but nonetheless he was a child of her loins and she did love him. she wanted him to be given a chance to work intelligently with the resources given to him as Lord Malfoy. If he could curb his spending excesses and avoid the same trap his father had fallen into, the money she had just given him would serve until he could gather other liquid resources. Narcissa smiled softly to herself while the goblins started the paperwork.

She had given her son a chance if he proved intelligent enough to take it. It would be the last chance she would give him.

* * *

Harry joined Bellatrix outside. He found the raven haired beauty leaning up against the cavern wall with her eyes closed.

"What's wrong?" He asked softly. The question came from his lips unbidden when he saw how forlorn the ex death eater looked. He told himself that he didn't care what she was upset about, but still, he asked.

Bellatrix looked up. "I just divorced my husband, Potter." She stated as if the answer was obvious.

"So." He returned bluntly. "He was a death eater. You wanted to not be one anymore. Remember that?"

Green and purple eyes met and sparked with emotion. "Clearly." She answered. "but that doesn't make it any easier." She continued. "I love my husband Potter. Does that surprise you, Potter? That I could love someone."

"Then why did you leave him?" Harry asked.

"I'm tired. Tired of living for someone who could use me and throw me away. Tired of spending a third of my life in prison. Just tired of the life that I've lived. Sirius gave me a second chance and I am going to use it for as long as get the chance." At Harry's look of confusion, she continued. "Do you really think Dumbledore is going to win? Do you have any idea how close we came to total victory last time, Potter?"

"I would guess a scars length away?" Harry shot back sardonically.

Bellatrix actually smiled at that. "Your luck's not going to strike twice." She shook her head, "he's been practicing the dark arts for sixty years Potter. _Years_. Do you really believe that the old man and his order can defeat him." She snorted. "He is going to kill you, kill my sisters, and kill me for betraying him...and there's not a damn thing any of us are going to be able to do about it."

"So why bother with...this?" Harry asked.

"because whatever time I'll get is better than not doing it at all." Her reply was in a soft voice that barely carried the few feet between the pair.

* * *

After Narcissa finished signing the goblins paperwork she joined the other two outside the vault. She found Harry and Bellatrix standing well away from each other, neither looking at the other.

_I wonder what happened?_

"I assume we're all finished here?" She asked to silent pair.

Harry nodded. "We got just about everything useful from the vault. I guess we can go back to Privet Drive."

"How are we getting there? You can't apparate us and we've never been there." Narcissa asked.

Harry pulled out Sirius' folded letter. "He turned this into a multi-use two way portkey so I could come back to the vault whenever I wanted. Just hold on to me."

Both Black sisters grabbed onto Harry's large shirt and Harry clutched the letter in his hand. He whispered the word of activation and all three felt the familiar sensation of pulling at their navels.

Then Harry Potter, and the newly minted Bellatrix and Narcissa Black, were gone.

* * *

"Again." Andreas' cold voice ordered.

Draco frowned but began the chant once more. The spell Andreas was attempting to teach the young Slytherin was a difficult one. He refused to give Draco a living thing to practice on until the youth could get the incantation perfect. Sighing he started the spell again, intoning a long chant in Latin and tracing his wand in a complicated series of whirls and spiraling loops. This time he felt the surge as his core of magic and the wand core connect and the tip of the magical talisman flared into sickly sapphire light.

Andreas smiled. "Excellent Draco. Excellent." He waved his hand. "You may have a break."

Draco smiled thankfully. His godfather had proved to be merciless teacher. After 'teaching' Draco to handle pain, he worked all afternoon showing Draco dark spells and sorceries. Draco had done his best to rise to the occasion but Andreas proved to be a far more difficult taskmaster than his teachers at Hogwarts. He seemed satisfied with Draco's progress but it proved difficult to tell considering his godfathers erratic behavior. Silly and icy by turns, Andreas Nott scared Draco more than a little, but the man knew his magic. He had drilled the incantation to the spell into Draco's mind with unrelenting duty until Draco saw the letters on the inside of his eyes in the brief rest periods his teacher occasionally allowed.

A spell whose effects Draco didn't even know.

"Godfather, what exactly are you training me for?" He asked. "the spell your teaching me isn't like anything I've ever studied before."

"I wouldn't think so. It's a terribly old spell, rarely used anymore. It would be an unforgivable if it could be cast by more than a handful of people."

"But why _me_?" Draco pressed. "Why does the dark lord want you to teach me this spell."

Andreas shook his head, disappointed. "I would have thought you would have figured it out by now Draco. What is the one thing you, of all the dark lords servants, has access to?"

"Hogwarts." Draco realized.

Draco's godfather leaned forward and his eyes shone with a sinister light. "Exactly, my boy. It's a special spell for a special job."

"You're going to assassinate Harry Potter."

* * *

Here ends another chapter of Redemption of the Black Sisters. I hope you like it. The response so far has been overwhelming and I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far.

On my profile I have a few challenges for exotic pairings. check them out and write one if it tickles your fancy. I'm trying to encourage people to write more stories invovling exotic pairings and this is part of my humble attempt. drop me an email if you decide to write one so I can read it and recomend it to others. Please, someone take up the gauntlet. there are so many stories out there waiting to be told with women far more interesting than Hermione and Ginny.

Read and review the new chapter and tell me what you think. I'm interesting in hearing what you think will happen in up coming chapters. I also have one question. Much later in the story Bella and Cissy are going to look into the mirror of erised. What do you think they should see?

for those who are curious, chapter four reveals how the Black Sisters are going to go unrecognized at Hogwarts.

once again read and review (waves shiny crystal to hypnotize readers into leaving feedback)


	4. Black Home

The Redemption of the Black Sisters  
Part Four A  
By Phoenixgod2000

* * *

The smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive was sparsely decorated. A single small bed was shoved into one corner of the tiny room. It was covered by several thin blankets and a flat pillow. A lamp with a bare bulb sat on a scratched desk. Threadbare drapes covered the lone small window which looked out the immaculately kept rear yard of the house. The door to the room was the only piece of the room that looked like well maintained. It was solid, oak, and reinforced with locks. On the outside. 

It was as thoroughly an unpleasant room as one might imagine. And it was into this unpleasant room that Harry and the Black sisters reappeared.

Narcissa stumbled a little when she appeared and reflexively Harry caught her before she fell totally by grabbing her around her waist. Both were equally surprised at his actions and neither did something for several moments.

"Damn it Potter," the platinum haired teenager muttered, "you could've warned me about the Portkey."

"I didn't think I had to." Harry snarked. "Slytherins are supposed to be prepared for everything."

Harry continued to hold Narcissa until she cleared her throat. "You can let me go now, Potter." She said with a smirk.

Harry suddenly realized what position the both of them were in. In horror his hands snapped open and Narcissa stumbled in surprise before catching herself. "Oops."

Bellatrix studiously ignored her sister's and Harry's antics. Instead she looked around the room with upraised eyebrows. "You actually live here, Potter?"

"Just for the last few years. I outgrew my last bedroom." Harry answered flatly.

"Outgrew?" Bellatrix echoed. "This place is positively miniature. What did you used to sleep in, a closet?"

Harry looked at the raven haired girl. "No," He answered quietly, "a cupboard."

Bellatrix looked with a little horror at Harry. She could not conceive of child of her lineage forced to live the way Harry had just described. Purebloods just didn't do that to their rare and precious children. That muggles could do such a thing confirmed every negative thing she believed about them.

After his declaration, the three of them stood around uncomfortably until Harry spoke. "I guess we should head downstairs and let my aunt and uncle know that your going to be staying until Dumbledore comes to get you."

"Why won't he come for you as well?" Narcissa asked inquisitively.

"My mother's blood protection shields me from Voldemort as long as I live with her sister, my aunt." Harry answered bitterly. "So I have to be a good little wizard and stay here till I'm summoned."

Narcissa raised her eyebrows in understanding. "_Sanguine Aegis_." She said knowingly. "A blood shield. That's powerful magic."

"Whatever." Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd rather go without protection then have to stay here, but since I'm underage I don't have any control over my life." Harry finished, his voice laced with anger. "We need to meet my relatives." he said again. "It'll be worse if they catch us before I can introduce the both of you. Oh," he added," whatever you do, let me do the talking. And don't curse them if you can help it."

* * *

"If you lay another one of those sausages on me," Bellatrix snarled, "I'll transfigure you into a pig and roast you over a spit." 

Things were not going as well as they could have been. The Dursley's had been quite surprised to see a pair of stunning teenagers descend the stairs alongside their ragamuffin nephew. The family had reacted in predicable ways with a few amusing exceptions.

Vernon Dursley's face purpled and he bellowed, "What's this now? Who are these…people, boy? More of your freakish kind?" Even as he postured and puffed, neither of the women missed his gaze wandering up and down their bodies with a slightly lascivious stare.

"Freak?" Narcissa growled in a low voice, demonstrating her anger for once, instead of the icy veneer she typically showed. "You cannot perform the simplest magic, the easiest household charm and you believe that we are the freaks. Your kind hadn't domesticated the _dog _when Atlantis was at the height of its power. It is you who are the freaks." She spat venomously.

"Listen here, boy, you've been writing those letters to that…that…fellow with the bowler hat and queer eye, right? We've done nothing to deserve…" Vernon motioned vaguely with his hands at the girls, "these…these people coming here and talking down to us."

"I've fed you the same as everyone else," Petunia added in a high voice, her facing paling at the growing rage in the witches before her. "We've left you alone to stew in your room except for your chores. We've done as that awful man asked."

"You…fed…him the same as everyone else?" Bellatrix repeated incredulously. She glanced at Harry. "These are the creatures you defy the Dark Lord for? That you suffer to protect? They are not worth the droppings in an owl's cage."

Harry looked at Bellatrix and answered quietly. "Not every muggle is like them."

While Vernon and Petunia rushed to justify themselves, Dudley took another tactic. He was slow enough so that he didn't quite follow what everyone was talking about. All he saw was a tall, stunning, and athletic girl about his age, so he took action. The enormous boy who more closely resembled a young—and out of shape—whale attempted  
to waddle seductively towards Bellatrix. He laid a single thick fingered hand on Bellatrix's shoulder proprietarily.

This of course led to Bellatrix's colorful threat towards Harry's cousin. The nature of the threat and serious look on the face of the person making it caused Vernon to step forward and puff out his chest. "NOW SEE HERE! I WON'T- He started to bellow. Harry watched in horror as fell apart from there.

Petunia hid her emaciated form behind her husband's bulk. Dudley, realizing—eventually—what he had just propositioned, stumbled backwards, his great bulk preventing him from moving with any significant speed. Narcissa and Bellatrix drew their wands with blinding speed and trained them on the Dursley family, who was busy  
cowering en masse, in a great fleshy ball in the center of the kitchen. Narcissa's face was studiously blank, as if she'd dealt with annoying muggles every day, but it was Bellatrix's which worried Harry. She had a huge smile on her face and a maniacal gleam in her eye. Her whole being seemed suffused with a borderline madness which even Harry could feel. The whole situation rapidly spiraling out of control. He had to do something to regain his footing.

"EVERYONE STOP!" Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs. The Dursley's stopped moving in surprise at the uncharacteristic display from their normally taciturn nephew. The sisters Black stopped because their magical senses told them that raw magic was threatening to spill from him in a frightening torrent. Both women were awed at the magical power he was emitting unconsciously. They could practically feel the tingle across their skin as the invisible energy reacted with their own auras.

"How can they not feel that?" Narcissa murmured in amazement.

"They're muggles." Bellatrix replied as if that explained everything.

Perhaps it did.

Everyone quieted as Harry's gaze of emerald fire fell over them. "Now that I have your attention," He said in a softer tone of voice. "They will only be staying one or two days. They'll be quiet and stay out of your hair. They're the children of some important people in my…community. Bit if you don't want them here, I guess I could write to my friends…"

Vernon struggled to regain control over the situation. "I suppose that will be alright." He answered pompously. "But they stay in your room and help with the chores. And only one or two days, mind you."

"Good." Harry said with fake cheerfulness, "Now that that's settled, how about I make us something to eat since it's nearly dinner time?"

* * *

Dinner was a more pleasant affair than Harry could have anticipated. Both Narcissa and Bellatrix were well trained in the arts of polite dining and even Aunt Petunia found nothing lacking in their dinner table manners. 

Dudley entertained the family with tales of his boxing exploits. Narcissa was obviously bored and paid him no attention, but Bellatrix found the muggle sport interesting despite of herself. Harry was surprised at how restrained Bellatrix was while Dudley bragged about his exploits. He even thought he saw a slight gleam in her eye at the graphic descriptions the lad used, complete with demonstrations at the table with his ham-like fists. Dudley preened beneath the beautiful witch's attention for a while but soon enough—though too soon for Dudley—her attention waned.

After dinner, the Dursley's retired to their bedroom and Dudley left for Piers house, Harry showed the girls how the television worked. The sisters faked a keen disinterest in muggle technology when Harry showed them what it could do, although that quickly faded with their increasing interest in how muggles could do so many things on television that seemed like magic. They peppered Harry with questions about the stories and about the special effects and how they were created. Narcissa in particular seemed absolutely fascinated by the effects while Bellatrix preferred to simply soak in the action of the television. Harry even popped in a videotape, and the sisters, before they realized it, became spellbound by the magic of Star Wars. They were soon transfixed by the images of Obi-Wan-Kenobi and Darth Vader. They watched the first movie and insisted upon seeing the others. They spent several hours enthralled by the muggle device and the stories of a muggle named George Lucas. They laughed with Yoda and were amazed by Han Solo. The gasped with the revelation of Luke's parentage and stayed eerily silent during the confrontation between the Emperor and Darth Vader.

Even Harry got into the story. He had seen the movies a long time ago but not recently. It amazed him to feel the parallels between himself and Luke Skywalker. He could empathize with the young Jedi and re-watched the story with an interest that bordered on the obsessive. He even forgot about whom he was watching the story with. At one point during the evening he actually found himself sandwiched between both sisters as all three stared transfixed at the television screen. The lights were off and the only illumination in the room came from the glow of the television set.

It was an odd moment for Harry when he realized what he was doing and who he was with. He glanced at their faces and saw two young women smiling into the darkness, their beautiful, pale faces lit by screen with an iridescent quality that transformed the pair of witches into figures of light and beauty.

_This isn't who they are_

the spell broken; Harry stopped enjoying the muggle entertainment and when the last movie was over quickly declared that it was time for bed. Bellatrix hopped up and started toward Harry's bedroom with the Boy Who Lived quickly following suit.

Narcissa, ever the introspective one, stayed behind. She had disliked muggles since the moment she was born. It had been bred into her through millennia of prejudice and sharpened by a lifetime in marriage to a racist of the highest order. She had never thought about muggles or the way they lived their lives because it had always been so removed from her life of leisure and arcane study. But for all of their individual power, no wizard had ever thought to create such a device. How many other such marvels waited in this world, she wondered? She stared at the muggle device that had  
entertained her for so many hours.

_Maybe they have more to teach us than we thought…_

* * *

"I'm not sleeping on that bed." Bellatrix declared. "My cell at Azkaban had a bed that looked more comfortable than that." 

Harry had insisted on the women taking his bed while he slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. He might not like them much but they were guests in his home and he prided himself on being as unlike his cousin as he could possibly manage. This included being gentlemen to a pair of teenage witches. They were less than enamored with the idea.

Narcissa snorted. "I'm the one who should complain. I spent last night on a goose feather and silk bed. This'll be murder on my back."

"Then transfigure it." Harry muttered as he rolled out his sleeping bag. "Your both witches aren't you? Use magic."

The sisters looked sheepishly at each other before Bellatrix drew her wand and pointed it at the bed. A whispered incantation later and the bed transformed into a large four poster bed with silk drapes hanging from the posts that filled most of the room.

"Hmm, a little ostentatious sister." Narcissa murmured.

Bellatrix shot a return smirk at her sister. "I've seen your closet, Cissy. You have no room to talk."

Narcissa laughed but didn't disagree. Instead she motioned around the small bedroom derisively, "This…space…is a little cramped." She wove her wand in complicated series of loops and spirals and the walls of the room rippled like pools of water. They then stretched and pulled like rubber. Soon Harry's room was three times its size.

"Wicked!" Harry said. "When do they teach that at Hogwarts?"

"They don't" Narcissa said. "But they teach the basics during seventh year charms."

"And transfiguration." Bellatrix added.

"We can teach it too you, if you'd like." Narcissa spoke again. "It's not all that hard, just prone to abuse so the teachers wait till the students are more mature before they teach it.

"Dumbledore better get here soon." Bellatrix mumbled. "It'll be a pain to have to retransfigure it every day or so. And speaking of transfiguration; stand back." She motioned with her wand at Harry. He obeyed and soon his sleeping bag was a bed as magnificent as theirs. "Hopefully that will last through the night." Bellatrix said. "I'm not at my best right now."

Harry stared between the bed and the witch. "Thanks," he muttered. Quickly shifting gears he asked, "When you change something it doesn't stay transfigured?"

"Little things can be changed permanently, but larger items can't be unless the wizard throws a whole lot of power behind it or they happen to be Crafters—an ability wizards can be born with to permanently create and transfigure objects. It's a fairly uncommon  
ability and crafters are virtually guaranteed good jobs and a life of ease because of their talents." Bellatrix clarified. "I'm not sure about all of the details; theory is more of Narcissa's forte. But, as I understand thing, when a wizard creates something out of thin air or changes its form or properties, they create a matrix around the object into which they pour power. The matrix leaks if it's too big—too big a change or creation—which causes it to break down eventually when there isn't enough magic left in the pattern to sustain the change."

Harry nodded in understanding, actually interested in what he was learning for once.

Narcissa yawned. "It's too late for theory of Transfiguration. I think its time for bed." She looked at her sister softly. "Today has taken a lot out of me."

"Yeah," Bellatrix laughed. "About twenty years."

"Bitch!" Narcissa giggled as she drew her wand across the air. A shimmering gray curtain appeared to give the girls some privacy to change into night clothes.

Harry lay down and listened to the sisters as they giggled and teased each other while he drifted off into sleep. They sounded like a pair of giggling third years. Did women never grow out of that stage? Evidently not, he realized if a Death Eater and a Death Eater sympathizer could still laugh in such a way.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

* * *

The next dawned with Harry getting up from the ground. His bed had regressed back into a sleeping bag during the night. He was surprised he hadn't woken up and had actually stayed asleep while the bed transformed. He looked over at the sisters and saw  
their bed had changed and shrunk as well. The sisters were piled practically on top of each other. Their limbs were entwined and Narcissa appeared to have a strand of Bella's hair clamped firmly between her teeth. 

Harry shook his head in amazement and stretched. His muscles popped and realized that he was a little taller than he was yesterday. Sirius' potion must still be working to change him. Pleased, Harry turned to go to his desk in order to write a letter to Dumbledore when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Headmaster!" Harry said incredulously.

The headmaster at Hogwarts sat serenely at Harry's small desk as if he spent every day in a small muggle bedroom. The old wizard was dressed in light purple robes embroidered with silver stars that shifted into constellations of various types while Harry watched. His old face normally carried with it a sense of youth and vitality that separated him from other elderly wizards, but this day every line stood in sharp relief, a roadmap to a place of pain and responsibility. His eyes twinkled not a wit. Dumbledore was as grave as Harry had ever seen him.

The aged school master smiled sadly at the boy who lived. "Hello Harry." He motioned at the sleeping girls. "You should wake them up. It seems we have much to discuss."

* * *

Andreas was not, in any sense the word could be used, a happy man. 

He had spent the past fifteen years in Greece living in a small island fishing community. He had fled there after the Dark Lord was banished from his body and the crackdown on Death Eaters kicked into high gear. He ruled over the muggles like one of the wizard kings of old. He wove wards of magic to prevent outsiders from invading his little fiefdom and had happily spent the intervening years mastering dark spells and living a life a decadent luxury bought with magic and the labors of Imperious controlled muggles.

Then his dark mark began to burn again.

He had ignored the burning brand with all of his willpower and managed to last almost two full months before he succumbed to the power of the mark and left to go to his newly returned master's side.

He found that a warmer reception than he anticipated. Known as the Dark Scholar—an appellation given by the Dark Lord himself, he found his services were required by his master. A scholar of daemonic lore and ancient rituals of corruption and blood sorcery, Andreas learned that the Dark Lord had a new plan to rid himself of the thorn called Harry Potter.

A plan that included Andreas' Godson, Draco Malfoy. The child of one of his most loyal Death Eaters, Draco was loyal, powerful, and most importantly, had access to the Potter boy and the inner workings of Hogwarts.

So Andreas was left with the thankless task of trying to make a wizard out of his spoiled godson. This was the reason why he had just spent an entire day attempting to teach a complicated spell to the young Slytherin. It was only after Draco had started to produce a weak blue light from his wand that Andreas had slowed down enough to ask his godson where Narcissa had gone. Draco had shrugged and mentioned that the last he had seen her; she had been working in his fathers study. Andreas thought nothing of it, knowing that Narcissa could simply have been out on one of her frequent shopping trips. He assumed that when she returned it would be with arms equally weighed down by books of obscure knowledge and the latest in Wizarding fashions. She was a scholar of the arcane—a interest he could sympathize with—but she also possessed a rather wide streak of vanity, a trait that's annoyed him as long as he's know the youngest Black sister. But after he woke up the next day and realized she had not returned home he grew concerned and thus decided to examine the area Draco had last recalled seeing her.

So Andreas found himself inside Lucius' study thumbing through Gringotts scrolls.

It appears that Lucius had donated rather flagrantly to the Dark Lord's coffers he mused lightly.

Narcissa had plainly been trying to keep the Malfoy properties afloat with the remains of the fortune Lucius had left her with. Since that wasn't much, there was little possibility of his initial out shopping theory being correct.

Where could she be? He wondered silently

Narcissa would not just get up and leave what she was doing. She was as methodical and patient as a witch could be. There had been stories which circulated in the Slytherin House which even reached his ears long he had left the school that bore testament to her cold and calculating mind. Once she set her mind upon something she did it and without half measures. The only thing Andreas had ever liked about the wife of Lucius Malfoy was that characteristic.

Well…that and her extraordinary beauty.

Andreas drew his wand and began chanting in Latin. He drew spiraling lines with the tip of his wand. The wand left burning silver contrails in the air that swirled and danced with frenetic glee. The spell reached a crescendo and Andreas released his  
magic. He paled slightly from the draining spell as the silver energy roiled and twisted into a glowing silver representation of Narcissa.

The image sat at the table and aped flipping through papers although the image could not grasp the real papers at the table. He watched as the silver image of an owl materialized right inside the window and landed on the desk. Narcissa reached for the owl as if to grab a letter. She read it and Andreas took careful note of the turmoil that crossed her face. She sat in thought for a while before getting up and walking towards the door. As she crossed the threshold the afterimage burned away.

Andreas Nott thumbed through the papers on the desk but found nothing that would cause Narcissa the consternation that she had evidently experienced.

_Who could have sent her a letter that could have bothered her that much_

* * *

"What do you want?" Harry snapped. He had swiftly woken the girls, who had seemed quite surprised and more than a little nervous at being in the presence of the greatest light wizard of the age. 

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed, as if bowed by a great weariness. "Still so very angry, Harry?"

The boy who lived snorted in wordless derision while the sisters looked between the aged headmaster and Harry with some surprise. Both had heard that Harry and Dumbledore shared a special bond and that he doted on the boy. But they had clearly heard wrong. Bellatrix and Narcissa could feel practically palpable hatred emanating from Harry. He crackled—as if a thunderstorm was trapped within his aura—and his rage possessed an almost magical quality to it.

"While it saddens me that you still bear me ill will, you know why I am here." The headmaster motioned at the women recently reduced in age. "Your guest's presence tells me that Sirius' plan has succeeded, which has taken me by surprise, I must admit," Dumbledore said. "I didn't think you would ever abandon Tom, Bellatrix. And you always seemed loyal to your husband, Narcissa. There seemed little hope that either of take up his offer."

Bellatrix shrugged. "I guess Sirius knew us better than you did. Besides, we're Blacks, which makes us nothing if not surprising."

"True. The pair of you were always most surprising." Dumbledore smiled fondly at the young women. He turned towards Harry. "I am surprised to see you go along with this, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "I couldn't turn down Sirius last wish. No matter how much I wanted to." He continued, his gaze flickering over to Bellatrix for a small moment.

"Well," Dumbledore continued heavily. "Sirius' success has left me in a slight quandary. We must discuss how to proceed."

"How?" Bellatrix demanded. "What do you mean how? Sirius promised us a second chance to go to Hogwarts. A chance to do things over again, better than before."

Dumbledore held up his hands to silence the former Death Eater. "And you will. If you can convince me that you won't endanger my school or students."

* * *

Harry paced downstairs while the aged headmaster interrogated the Black sisters in his room. The headmaster had asked for some privacy to question the sisters and Harry agreed right away, something that surprised him when he reached the bottom of the stairs. He almost suspected Dumbledore of using magic to change his mind, but knew that kind of mental magic wouldn't work well against a person who could fight of the imperious curse. 

Harry was alone downstairs. The Dursley's were gone, courtesy of a mild confundus charm by Albus Dumbledore. He laughed and told Harry that his family would be out driving for quite some time and he hoped they had recently filled up their gas tank.

The youth paced in the living room, sight of the headmaster filling him with rage. He had thought that maybe he had started getting over his anger at the headmaster, but the sight of him just caused the embers of his anger to flare back up into a bonfire of enmity.

Harry was angry at being left out of the Order by Dumbledore. The prophecy was about him, and he thought that Harry could just be left alone like a fire axe behind a glass case. Only break in case of emergency!

He had spent the previous year mired in ever increasing difficulty and Dumbledore had done nothing, simply expecting Harry to go along quietly with Umbridge, the rules, no Quiddich…everything piled onto Harry until he nearly broke. Would have broken if not for the outlet of the DA. The DA and his anger. His anger had kept him from despair. His anger burned through everything else.

He was still angry that he had his memories violated by his most hated teacher repeatedly—and all the while the headmaster would not even meet his gaze.

He was angry that he knew the truth about who his father was—directly from the mind of one of his worst enemies. The image of the hero in his mind was forever tarnished and he hated Snape for ruining the fantasy of his father. His father the bully.

Yes, he hated his father too. Hated him for not being the man that everyone said he was. Hated him for making him feel sorry for Snape. But Harry hated him most of all because he wasn't the person Harry had always imagined his father would be.

Most of all he was angry at how long it took for him to learn about the Prophecy—and even angrier that now that he knew, he wanted to wipe the knowledge from his thoughts.

The hate, rage, and frustration bubbled up in Harry to the point where he just wanted to throw back his head and scream.

_Power that the Dark Lord knows not_…came unbidden into his mind, whispered in the aged voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry stopped and flipped open the small box to reveal the Philosophers Stone. He stared at the irregular rock. Could this be the power that the Dark Lord didn't know about? But if it was, how could he use the stone? It possessed no offensive power that he knew about. It could only create wealth and health. But in its limited field, it was perhaps the most powerful item on the planet.

Narcissa had been right about one thing, Harry suddenly had a lot more bargaining power than he used to.

Not to mention immortality if he wanted it.

Immortality. The idea was almost too much for Harry to even contemplate. He was sixteen years old, for Merlin's sake! Death and aging seemed like a far away problem to the youth. Besides, with the prophecy he might not be able to live out a normal wizards  
span, why should he worry about an enhanced one?

The boy who lived walked over to the drape covered window that hid the Dursley home from the rest of Little Whinging. He pulled back the curtain and looked out the window and outside to the rest of the block. The street stretched out farther than he could see. Hecould count the number of times he had left this little hamlet on two hands. Hermione had traveled every year during the summer. She was always very eager to share her stories with Ron and Harry on the train ride to Hogwarts. Hell, even Ron had done more traveling than Harry!

Maybe, if he survived whatever was coming, the stone could afford him the opportunity to do as much traveling as he wanted, for as long as he wanted. That might be nice.

Harry sat down with thoughts running through his head so fast he could barely catch hold of them.

_Calm down_, he told himself harshly. No more rushing blindly. I have power, now I have to figure out how to use it.

He couldn't trust Dumbledore. The old man loved him, but he wanted to protect him too much. He couldn't trust the Order because they would go along with whatever Dumbledore wanted. They were his minions the same as the Death Eaters were at the beck and call of Voldemort. Who could he trust?

His friends, he realized after a moment.

Ron; who's been at his side for five years. They'd had their arguments, but Harry never doubted he would be there in a pinch.

Hermione; his conscience and counselor. Someone whose advice more he should listen to more.

Ginny; a girl he's known for years, but only recently had he discovered the depth of her strength and resolve.

Neville; who rose to every occasion as best he could, which was a sight better than even he had ever thought possible.

Luna; a new friend, but one who's proven herself with every action, and whose insight was as profound as it was unexpected.

They had proven willing to follow him as far as he led, including into battle against wizards that hardened aurors dreaded dueling. Yet, alongside Harry, they fought those same wizards to a standstill. They were his Order, Harry realized, his allies againstenemies who wanted to kill him and those who wanted to control him in equal measure.

And now he had two more allies, he realized suddenly. He could trust Bellatrix and Narcissa. Despite his misgivings about Sirius' plan, the link insured that he would know if they were trustworthy or not. And instinctively he realized they could be trusted. TheBlack sisters were powerful, fully trained witches, and they already offered him some training. It shouldn't be difficult to get them to help out the rest of his little group.

That is, if they were allowed into Hogwarts.

Instinctively, Harry stared up the stairs towards his room. He couldn't hear anything; no doubt a sound proofing charm blocked the door. But through his link with the sisters he could feel a mixture of sorrow, guilt, and…relief?

He flipped the stone, perhaps the mightiest magical talisman in the world, from hand to hand, absent-mindedly, like a snitch. He stared out the window and plotted.

* * *

After Harry left, Dumbledore, Bellatrix, and Narcissa stared at each other silently. Dumbledore sat confidently on Harry's bed while the pair of sisters leaned up against the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

"Well," Dumbledore began, "It seems that we have quite the quandary. On one hand we have two women, one of whom embodies everything that is wrong with pureblood society. The other is a woman who has perpetrated some of the darkest acts that I've ever known in more that one hundred and fifty years of life. And they want to be let into my school to possibly corrupt and endanger my children. I'm not overwhelmed with joy at the idea." His gaze caught the pair of women with its sparkling intensity.

Bellatrix opened her mouth to refute what he had just stated when Dumbledore started again. "On the other hand," he said softly, "I have two former students who need my help once more. Two students whom I failed to protect and guide the best I could have when they were first under my charge." Dumbledore leaned forward. "I remember a pair of sisters who strode around Hogwarts with all the potential in the world, potential that was squandered by darkness and paths poorly chosen—by many people. I have often lain awake wondering what if those sisters had chosen a different path. How might our culture have been improved by their presence and vitality? Those girls…they are worth a second chance." He shrugged his shoulders. "The question is; which pair are you?"

"I wish…sometimes…I used to feel numb most of the time." Bellatrix whispered to her former headmaster. "After I began studying the Dark Arts, pain became pleasure and torture, seduction. Everything was dull, gray, and lifeless unless I was hurting something…anything…someone was always best. Screams became my symphonies and I became death's conductor. When I was sent away…Azkaban made me ache because I couldn't do magic, couldn't cause any pain. Sirius, when he…when I…" She struggled to get the words out. "His offer touched something in me. Something that I thought had been burned out of me a long time ago, by my studies and Azkaban." She shook her head, inky hair shaking vigorously. "I've been feeling more like how I was before all the Unforgivables…before I studied dark magic …I'm different now Except its even more intense. Like all the feelings I've been avoiding over the past decade and a half have built up and starting to happen all at once. The potion changed something in me, but I don't know what." She shrugged, helpless to fully articulate her feelings.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Bella," he began softly. It wounded his heart to see the witch, looking exactly as she did when she attended Hogwarts, so vulnerable. Bellatrix had always been a force of nature. A whirlwind of charisma and passion that swept up all within her reach. Now however, she sagged against the wall, unsure of herself. Lost. "The dark arts are dark for one simple reason. If you use them too often, too freely, they alter the user's very mind and soul. They rot away at the moral core and render things once considered unthinkable, thinkable, and even pleasurable. The very darkest of wizards lose the ability to find joy in anything but the vilest of forbidden sorceries. It seems to me that the potion has not only removed age from your body, but whatever rots lodged within your soul as well. You are beginning to remember what it was like to truly be alive, to enjoy life and not simply exist as a vessel for the forbidden arts." Dumbledore smiled sadly. "A prospect which will forever be denied to my old student, I am sad to say. Tom is far too lost to even realize he could try and change."

Bellatrix nodded slowly. That did make some sense. "All, I know," she said eventually, "is that I want is to live whatever life I have left to the fullest, before the Dark Lord hunts my sister and I down and kills us. Because when he figures out what happened, and he will, no place on earth will be safe for us."

"Do you truly believe that you will die, Bellatrix?" The old wizard asked softly.

The raven haired black hung her head, unwilling to meet her former teachers gaze. She had always been slightly in awe of Dumbledore. A contradiction in terms, he was the embodiment of everything that her family had taught her to hate—a muggle loving pureblood traitor—but he possessed an aura that had drawn her in despite the difference in their beliefs. She found herself lapsing into old academic patterns and was slightly ashamed of herself when she heard the disappointment in her teacher's voice.

Narcissa interjected. "I don't share Bella's fatalism but let's face it; if you abandon us we will be killed. Besides, if you take us in we can give you information about the movements and plans of the Dark Lord."

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"No," Narcissa answered quietly. "Merely stating a fact. We will die, hunted like animals, if you do not take us in. And we have information that could help your Order. It seems like a reasonable trade to me."

"You can trust us." Bellatrix added. "We don't agree on much when it comes to Wizarding politics and the place of muggleborns, Dumbledore, but we'll play nice in Hogwarts. You have our word as Blacks."

Dumbledore sat in silence while the sisters waited for his pronouncement. Finally he sighed. "I have always liked the both of you. Your spirits lit up Hogwarts while you were there and that drafty old castle can always use more lightening. And I think, perhaps so could you." He smiled brightly.

"Welcome back."

* * *

A little while later found the old wizard and the two sisters downstairs with Harry. The youths all sat in the Dursley's living room while Dumbledore paced back and forth in front of him. His silvery robes rustled and three pairs of eyes watched him nervously waiting for him to speak. 

"We have several issues," he began after several minutes of pacing. "First of all we have to get you new identities to get you enrolled into Hogwarts. Normally that is quite difficult since switching magical schools is so rare, but luckily I have greater authority over the school now that Fudge has acknowledged the return of Voldemort." He made a face at the mention of the idiotic politician. "I just don't know if you will be able to carry off the deception."

"We won't be Druids, will we?" Bellatrix asked. "I don't fancy being a pretend vegetarian or wearing oak leaves in my hair."

"And hemp robes cause me rashes." Narcissa chimed in.

Dumbledore laughed. "No, as entertaining that would be, you will not pose as Druids. You will be my nieces."

"What!" a pair of voices echoed in disbelief.

"Great grand nieces to be exact." The great wizard clarified. "My brother Aberforth loathed the weather here on the isles so he moved to the mainland. He married a Swiss witch and had several children. They in turn had several children and so on. The endresult is a pair of young witches around your ages' who would make perfect disguises for you. All I must do is simply recall them to Hogwarts from the seclusion in which they live. For their protection of course." They watched as his eye twinkle returned with great force. It almost seemed to them that he relished the thought of the deception as some sort of grand joke against the Ministry.

"Won't your nieces object to a criminal and Death Eater spouse taking their identities?" Narcissa questioned.

"No."

The shift in Dumbledore's voice left Bellatrix and Narcissa reeling. His answer was so flat and heavy that neither woman felt like questioning the wizard further.

With a flick of his wrist Dumbledore conjured a folder and passed them to each girl. "These are the owl result equivalents for my nieces as well as pertinent biographical information. Bella, you will be Marie Dumbledore and Narcissa, you will be Claire, her twin sister. Coincidently you each managed to get the exact scores of Bellatrix and Narcissa Black. I've given you the appropriate Newt Classes."

"Lovely, Newt Arithmancy; that which was so much fun the first time around." Bellatrix answered dryly.

"Maybe you'll do better than an Acceptable this time around." Narcissa shot back with a smile.

Dumbledore shook his head. "In any case that was the easy part. Fudge will not dare question me about school policy. The harder part will be the disguise. Most of the teachers who taught you are still teaching at the school. Only Severus will know your true identity. The gift and curse of beauty you both possess is that you stood out the first time around and the teachers at least would recognize you. Everyone must believe that you are my nieces so you must alter your appearance."

"I wouldn't put it past Hermione or even Luna to figure it out either." Harry added.

"No, Miss Granger is quite the perceptive witch." Dumbledore agreed. "And Miss Lovegood's insights are every bit as keen as her mothers." Dumbledore instructed while drawing his wand.

"Wait!" Narcissa shouted. She half stood up and held out her hands to stop the wizard.

"Miss Black, I realize that this is far from an ideal solution since I will have to constantly renew the spells but-

"We're metamorphmagi," Narcissa rushed out nervously. "Bella and I." She touched her face as if to reassure herself that nothing had yet been altered about her yet.

"Like Tonks?" Harry questioned.

Bellatrix wrinkled her face in confusion. "Tonks? As in Andromeda's muggleborn husband?" She snorted. "No, he is not-

"She is referring to young Nymphadora." Dumbledore interrupted. "Your niece. She is Full Metamorphmagi. I am surprised, that you are. I never knew that you both were  
Metamorphmagi."

Bellatrix looked confused. "Little Nymphadora is a Full metamorphmagus? Truly?"

"Of course you didn't know what we were." Narcissa said. "There would be no advantage to our abilities if it were spread around. Besides," she added with a droll smile. "Neither of us is a full metamorphmagi. I mostly used my abilities to firm and tone certain parts of my body that changed after I had Draco." Harry and Dumbledore looked at Narcissa in amazement. She returned the look with a shrug. "What? I'm vain." She shook her head. "Anyway, we're both very limited in what we could do with our power but if you can give us a picture of what your nieces look like we can make ourselves appear enough like them to fool people. We'll be far from perfect copies since we can only control hair, eyes, and some soft tissue areas. But the changes are as permanent as any other changes to our bodies and if no one has seen them in a long time…"

Dumbledore nodded and simply said, "How fortuitous that you both have this ability."

The old wizard used his wand and began a deep intonation in Latin. Light shot from his wand like a prism and focused on the far wall. After a little while the rainbow of colors resolved itself into a pair of images of attractive and smiling young women.

They were both tall and equally slender. The one on the left had a long nose reminiscent of Dumbledore's own feature. The one on the right had a smaller button nose. Both had blue eyes that sparkled and seemed to leap off the wall. The one on the left had auburn hair that hung straight down her back and fine features. The one on the right had honey blond hair that hung in slight curls past her shoulders stronger, but no less beautiful features. Both girls seemed to radiate happiness and good humor.

Both sisters looked at the images and exhaled a breath neither had been holding. "They're pretty enough," Bellatrix said cautiously. "But only for a while. One day soon I…We…will want to reassume our proper bodies."

"Fair enough." Dumbledore agreed. "But for now, Bellatrix, Marie is on the left and Claire is on the right, Narcissa."

Harry watched as Bellatrix and Narcissa closed their eyes after studying the images. He expected the changes to begin immediately, but neither of them changed in the slightest.

"What's taking them so long?" Harry asked in a whisper.

Dumbledore replied just as softly. "Their powers are quite limited. Nymphadora is the most gifted Metamorphmagi to be born in England in several hundred years. What she can do in moments is something that will take them perhaps fifteen minutes."

Harry nodded in interest. He hadn't known that there were gradations in power of Tonk's signature ability. "Professor, after their done, what are we going to do?"

"I will take all of you to headquarters. You will not come back here until next year, Harry and perhaps not even then." The old wizard looked down and smiled at the youth. "I will work to repair our relationship, Harry, because it means a great deal to me."

"Don't…" Harry began softly. "Don't talk to me like that. We aren't…We aren't like that anymore. After what you hid from me…we just aren't." He finished in a nearly broken whisper.

Dumbledore gave Harry a thin smile. "Like I said, Harry, I wish to attempt to repair our relationship."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "I have something to show you later, Professor. Something I found in the Black family Vault."

A small gesture.

But a gesture nonetheless.

Dumbledore nodded. "I will make time for that later on today. First I will need to debrief the sisters. They will both have a great deal of information to give the order. For now Harry, gather your things so we can leave when they are through changing."

Harry nodded. He looked at the sisters and noticed that both of them looked different already. Narcissa's hair had begun to curl and darken, while Bellatrix's hair had lightened slightly. Sighing he started to gather his things while Dumbledore watched the slow metamorphosis into his nieces with an unreadable expression.

Eventually the transformation stopped and the sisters opened their eyes. Both, while not perfect copies, looked a great deal like the nieces of Albus Dumbledore. He watched the sisters in silent awe until Harry spoke up and let him know that all of his things had been gathered and he was ready to leave.

The old Headmaster shook his head distractedly, "Yes. Of course." He pulled out a sheet of paper and held it up to the women. "This contains one of the great secrets in the battle against Voldemort. I hope you realize what I'm entrusting you with." He handed the paper to Narcissa. She unfolded it and Bellatrix looked over her shoulder.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12 Grimmuald Place_

* * *

Draco Malfoy hated studying. He loathed it with the intensity of only possible in a youth. He hated the musty smell of books, he hated the repetition of the wand movements he drilled endlessly and most of all he hated having to use a dead language for his spells. 

His Latin was terrible.

His parents had always lamented his study habits. He had been told repeatedly throughout his life that he was a wizard of uncommon power—even for a pureblood—but his study habits were abysmal and he'd never make anything of himself despite all of his talents.

His godfather ignored all his protestations and sent him to the Malfoy family library to do independent research while he attempted to locate his mother.

Draco didn't really understand the apprehension his godfather had demonstrated over his missing mother. She was only a woman after all and therefore not a threat to any plans of the Dark Lord. Besides she was loyal to the family she had married into.

No, Draco thought, there was no reason to worry about his mother.

He thought about what his godfather had told him. Assassination. It seemed like an appropriately Slytherin thing to do. Still, he was a little uneasy. He hadn't ever killed anything before, and although he wouldn't lose sleep over the ending of Potter, he would be committing an act that would stain his name forever.

Unless the Dark Lord won, of course.

He idly flipped through a dark arts tome, flipping past spell after dark spell, his eyes barely taking in the incantations long enough to decide they weren't worth anything. Then his eyes fell on a particular Latin stanza and he recognized it.

He should. His Godfather had made him practice it often enough over the past day and a half. His eyes flickered to the title of the spell.

_Animus Sacrilegium_

He broke into a wide smile as he read the effects of the spell. They were interesting.

Quite interesting.

* * *

"Check." 

Luna's voice echoed dreamily throughout the Library. Ron Weasley, youngest of the male Weasley children stared in disbelief at the chess board in front of him. He was losing! To Luna Lovegood of all people!

The problem was quite simply, Luna was crazy. Totally, unpredictably, irreverently, nutters. He set up gambits and traps that had beaten some of the best chess players he had ever met and yet Luna defeated them at every turn through the sheer chaos of her playing style. It was impossible to predict what she would do or protect his pieces because he didn't know from one moment to the next what she was going to do. He couldn't anticipate her actions. He didn't' know how to make strategic gambits against her. He simply did not understand how she thought.

It was maddening, really.

Ron rubbed his face and took a look around the library while deciding what piece he was going to move next. Hermione reclined on a couch decorated in Slytherin colors, deeply engrossed in thick book on complex Arithmetic proofs. Light reading for his bushy haired friend. Ron noticed her wince as she shifted in position. She still hadn't fully healed from the attack at the Ministry. She—and he for that matter—had gotten the headmaster and Madam Pomfry to hide the extent of their injuries from Harry. Neither wanted him to blame himself for their injuries, which were much more severe than initially thought. That truth was demonstrated as part of Hermione's shirt rode up, revealing a raw, rope-like scar, thick as a big man's thumb, that started beneath her belly button and traveled up towards her breasts.

Ron didn't know how high the scar went, hadn't asked, and Hermione hadn't volunteered the information.

Ginny, meanwhile sat on the ground scrawling a letter to Dean. Ron grimaced inwardly at the thought of his little sister's boyfriend. Dean was an okay bloke and at least he was a Gryffindor! But still, Ron knew first hand exactly what teenage boys thought about and he would be damned if he would let the pair of them be alone together.

Luna Lovegood sat across from him and watched him with mirth filled silvery eyes. Right now she was smiling widely at something beyond him. What the hell was the girl smiling at anyway? Ron wanted to be frustrated with the odd girl but he couldn't be. The stare he once found so disconcerting now sort of comforted him. Ron had faith that whatever madness the world would throw at them, Luna would forever remain the same.

He hadn't always thought that way. He remembered when he was confused in the department of mysteries and he started insulting Luna. It wasn't anything he would have ever said to her face without magical inducement, but they were all things he had thought about Luna in the past.

The youngest male Weasley rubbed the small pale half moon scars that decorated his temples—a gift from that brain and tentacles that attached to him in the Department of Mysteries. In a way the scars were what enabled him to see past Luna's dotty exterior. The mysterious brain had done something to him which researchers and the Department were still trying to figure out. It had put images into his mind. The images, not being Ron's own, caused him to become plagued with nightmares that began a few days after the Department of Mysteries. He tossed and turned every night feverish with dreams not his own. Then, the first night Luna had begun staying at headquarter she appeared mysteriously in his room. He could remember looking up at her eyes, half mad with visions and being taken in by her moon hued orbs. She silently grabbed onto his hand and stared at him with her great big eyes. The light which seemed to shine from her eyes drove away the nightmares and he fell into peaceful sleep. Over and over again she came to him in the night and held his hand, driving away the plague of dreams which infested his thoughts.

No, Ron didn't make fun of Luna Lovegood anymore.

Shaking his head free from the detritus of his thoughts, Ron ordered a knight to take the rook that checked him.

"I wouldn't have done that, mate. She's got you in two." A very familiar voice interrupted.

The head of every person the library snapped up and stared at the entrance to the library. Everyone, that is, except Luna, who had noticed Harry leaning in the doorway of the library five minutes earlier.

"Hello, Harry." She greeted in her usual dreamy voice. "Now Ronald can play you. I don't believe he enjoys playing me very much."

"When did you get in, mate? Mum's been trying for weeks to get you to stay here but Dumbledore always told her no." Ron said excitedly. He got up from the table and slapped Harry on the back in greeting. He took the opportunity to take a good look at his friend the first time all summer.

Harry's face was thinner and Ron could tell that he had dropped a not insignificant amount of weight. His cheeks were sharp planes and his eyes were ringed by shadows. Those emerald green eyes of his that Ron had heard Ginny sigh over more than once shone with fierce light. What really stood out to Ron was his posture, his bearing. Harry had seemed defeated when he had left school. His slouch, the way he shuffled his feet, everything about Harry screamed grief and guilt.

That was gone.

Harry met the eyes of everyone in the room. His back was straight and he seemed more confidant. There was still pain in his eyes, but that pain was overshadowed by two other things. Anger and resolve. Ron could see the anger Harry was carrying was tightly wound cold anger rather than the hot rage he possessed all of the last year.

"Bit a go. Your mum made me eat before she'd tell me where you lot were hiding at." Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly at Mrs. Weasley's mothering.

"Harry, how are you doing?" Hermione asked the boy who lived softly as she got up carefully from the sofa. She noticed Harry's expression and immediately attempted to hold off his guilt. "Don't look at me like that. It wasn't you that did this. It was Rookwood."

Ginny chimed in. "None of us regret going with you Harry. We'd do it again if we have to." Everyone nodded vigorously in agreement.

Harry smiled sadly. "That means a lot to me. That you're still willing to follow where I lead considering what happened last time. Especially how I treated you the year before. Sorry 'bout that by the way."

Ron snorted. "No worries mate. I've treated you worse for less reason. After everything with Umbridge and the git Snape, it's no wonder you went spare."

Hermione nodded. "Professor Dumbledore didn't forbid us from writing to you, this summer and even if he had, we wouldn't have listened." Hermione said it with vehemence that was most uncharacteristic of her. Something had definitely changed within the bushy-hair girl, Harry noted with surprise. She then added in a sheepish tone, which transformed her back into the Hermione he knew and loved, "We didn't write because honestly we had no clue what to say."

"If you had written, I wouldn't have known what to write back." Harry replied heavily. "This summer was rough." He admitted. "And what did happen was sort of difficult to explain." Ron wondered what he meant.

"Mostly I sat in my room and stewed. Angry at about everybody but you five and Neville. I didn't really snap out of it until I got Sirius' will from the Owl post. He left me just about everything in the black vault, including the damn title, since he was the last heir of the primary line of the Black family." He chuckled hollowly. "I'd give it all away if I could get him back but money doesn't quite work that way does it? Anyway, he even left a message saying something about how he knew that he was going to die and he hoped I could restore honor to Black family name. Snapped me out of the rut." Harry rubbed his face, amply demonstrating his weariness to his friends. "I have to make him proud. He and my parents and I can't do that if all I do is mope around."

"He knew he was going to die?" Ron echoed, latching onto the most unbelievable part of the tale.

"The Black Visions!" Hermione suddenly gasped. "I've read about those. Those are really rare. Supposedly they only happen to members of the Black family, but not one of their members has had one in centuries. I thought they were rubbish like everything else in Divination."

"I guess they're not rubbish." Harry replied. "Anyway Dumbledore came and got me personally with umm…two of his great grandnieces in tow. I think they're supposed to go to Hogwarts with us."

Hermione completely misinterpreted his stumble over words. "Are they very pretty?" She asked knowingly.

Harry shook his head. "Yes but don't go there." He warned. "It's not like that. They're…just unusual is all. You'll see." He looked around the room and asked, "So I understand why Ron and Ginny are here, but you and Luna?" He asked, attempting to switch gears away from Dumbledore's 'nieces'.

Hermione shrugged. "Dumbledore talked with Mum and Dad and impressed on them what kind of danger I'm in. They're under wards but he wanted something extra for me so he convinced them to let me stay here at headquarters. Besides this way I have better access to my healing potions."

Luna added softly. "Daddy decided to cancel our trip to Sweden this year so that he can concentrate on the Quibbler. We have to print the truth about the war since the Daily Prophet won't. Besides," she added with a shrug, "It'll be more fun to go after you destroy Voldemort. We won't have to watch out for death eaters that way."

Luna's declaration silenced the group. "Luna, Harry isn't going to destroy Voldemort. He's going to leave that up to Dumbledore and the Order." Hermione said sounding scandalized.

"Maybe I won't be given a choice." Harry added darkly. ron wondered what he meant. Surely Dumbledore won't make Harry fight You-Know-Who? Would he?

Hermione watched Harry's eyes and the pain which clouded them. Carefully she reached up and stroked his sharply defined cheek. "You look terrible." She said softly, referring to his weight loss and sleep deprivation. Ron felt a brief, irrational flare of jealously when Hermione stroked Harry's face, but it subsided back into nothingness.

"Yeah, Harry," Ginny said in an attempt at levity. "Don't know what I ever saw in you." She smiled like a pixy at the boy who lived.

"Maybe it was my eyes like a freshly pickled toad." Harry shot back sarcastically.

He was still laughing when Ginny launched the first couch pad at him. It struck him in the face, bowling him over. He flung it back, and soon pillows, couch pads, and laughter were filling the library of the ancient and noble house of Black.

* * *

Well, another part done. I hope everyone likes it and considers it worth the wait. I would have had it out faster but I had a catastrophic hard drive failure and lost everything. I had to rewrite almost half of the story. Reading the reviews that continually came to me over the months while I worked was a great inspiration. I want to thank everyone who reviewed the story. you can't imagine how good it feels to know that you all like it so much.

Part four B will be out on friday when I come back from thanksgiving.

While I have everyones attention, there is an author named Kinoth here at who deserves your notice. He's writing two stories. Harry Potter and the bonds of love is a submission to my Brides of the founders challenge and Hollow is shaping up to be a great H/T story. Read both and let him know how great they are.

So read and leave a review please.


	5. The Black Cross

The Redemption of the Black Sisters

Part Four B

By Phoenixgod2000

* * *

After lunch Harry decided to wander around Grimmuald Place alone. Ron had decided to be a glutton for punishment and challenge Luna to another game of chess. Hermione had gone back to reading and Ginny was staring lovingly at a letter Dean had given her. Having been alone for so much of the summer Harry felt a little suffocated in with all his friends surrounding him, which led to his walk around the mansion.

The house—which was his he guessed—was a bit brighter than it had been the previous summer. Molly Weasley had transformed the dingy abode into a livable, if not overly cheery, home. Still, it felt wrong to be here. He could still remember Christmas with Sirius and how happy he'd been to finally have some company for a while. The echoes of his godfather's laughter could still be felt by Harry and it hurt him. He might own this place but he was never coming back here after this year. Never again.

Eventually Harry's wanderings carried him towards a distant corner of the house and he passed a door where familiar snorting could be heard. Harry paused and then reached for the handle.

The door opened into a room with a vast bay window with open curtains. Sunlight flooded the room and bounced off the dappled form of Buckbeak, the hippogriff that Sirius escaped on three years earlier. Remus Lupin stood near one of the strong flanks of the creature and brushed its coat with long smooth motions of the comb he clutched with a white-knuckled grip.

When Harry opened the door, Remus stopped and tested the air with his nose. "Hello Harry," he greeted softly without turning around. Instead he continued to brush the hippogriff with strong practiced moves.

"Professor Lupin." Harry whispered guiltily. He started to back out of the room. He couldn't face Remus. Not now. Maybe not ever. After the way he got Sirius killed, Remus was the last of the marauders. And the last person Harry wanted to face.

"Don't go." The werewolf whispered brokenly. He turned around and met Harry's gaze.

Lupin looked at least two decades older than the last time Harry had seen him. His face was etched with lines and his eyes were heavily bagged and bloodshot. He had let his graying brown hair grow long. It now hung like a tangled knot down to his shoulders. Combined with three days worth of stubble, Remus Lupin resembled a shabby mess instead of the poor but dignified teacher he had been but a few years earlier.

"Come here," Remus motioned.

Harry bowed to buckbeak and when the creature acknowledged him, Harry approached. His favorite Defense Professor handed him a brush and muttered "other side."

Harry moved to the opposite end and started to match his mentor's moves. They worked in silence for a few minutes.

"How was your summer?" Remus ventured after a few minutes of silence.

"Terrible. Yours?"

Remus shrugged wordlessly. Teacher and pupil met each others eyes and stared at each other sadly for a moment. A wide gulf of pain separated them. Remus opened his mouth to say something then closed it. Harry could see that Remus was at as much a loss for words as Harry was. The moment gone, they went back to work.

Harry couldn't stand it; he had to break the silence. "I'm sorry Professor." He whispered with downcast eyes. He wasn't going to look Remus in the eyes. He didn't deserve to.

"What for? The werewolf queried. "And don't call me Professor," he added with a sad little smile. "It's Remus or Mooney."

"Sirius. He was the last of the real marauders besides you." Harry rubbed his rapidly welling eyes. "It's my fault he's gone. If I hadn't been so…stupid…or I practiced Occulomeny like I was supposed…or that damn mirror…" Harry let out a strangled sob.

Wordlessly Remus enveloped Harry in his strong arms. He cradled the boy, rocking him back and forth while Harry shook with great heaving sobs. He covered the front of the werewolf's robes with salty tears. Remus made comforting sounds in Harry's ear and held him, letting him know with the strength of his grip that he gave Harry no blame for what occurred. Slowly, Remus allowed himself to grieve. He let himself morn his friend with the one person who'd miss him as much as he did. Tears began to wind down his face and together the pair—teacher and student—let the floodgates of their grief be opened.

Finally Remus calmed down. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked down at Harry, who was wiping away the tears from his own face. "We're a right sight, aren't we? You blaming yourself and me not talking to anyone. Sirius should come down and kick our arse for acting like this."

Harry let out a strangled laugh "I know deep down its not really my fault, I do. Most of the time anyway. I'm angry at the right people, the people who deserve it, but then sometimes…like when I saw you it just hits me and I was worried that you would hate me."

Remus hugged Harry tight. "Mad, no Harry, I could never be mad at you. A little at Sirius for leaping without looking, but he wouldn't have been Sirius without that."

Harry suddenly flashed on the memory in Snape's pensieve. He remembered his father and Sirius and how they bullied the young future potion master and felt a little less warmly towards Sirius.

Remus felt the change in tension in Harry's limbs. "What's wrong?" He asked worriedly.

"Nothing." Harry said a little too quickly.

Remus wasn't a fool and he quickly divined what was wrong. "Your father was a good man. Regardless of what you saw in Snape's memories, he was."

Harry shrugged. "I wish I could believe that, but I guess I'll never know."

Remus watched Harry sadly for a moment before he furrowed his brow. "Harry did you find a sealed pensieve in the Vault when you went through his things?"

Harry nodded. "It was filled with memories, but I don't know whose."

Remus lit up. "They were Sirius' memories. He spent days duplicating them. He was going to give them to you but he…it happened." The werewolf's voice trailed off.

"Memories of what?" Harry asked.

"Your father." Remus answered. "You have no idea how much it hurt Sirius when he saw that you believed every bad thing about father that Snape had been saying. It hurt both of us. So he hit on the idea of duplicating memories in a pensieve so you could get a better picture of who your father was, of who both your parents were. I donated a few of them myself."

Harry rocked back. "Memories of my parents." He whispered softly. His eyes darted towards the entrance to the door. A part of him wanted to run right now to his room and shove his arm into the pensieve. But another part, the larger part, couldn't bare to watch a younger set of marauders happy. It was too soon after Sirius' death and too soon after the revelations in Snape's memories. The shattering of his father's image had hurt him and he wasn't sure if he could stand any more images of his father. Selected by Sirius or not.

Remus let Harry stew in his thoughts for a while. When he spoke again it was in a hesitant voice. "Harry…I just want you to know…I know I'm not your godfather or anything, but…but I'll be there for you whenever you want me to be, if that's you know…Okay."

The werewolf's chest tightened as Harry looked up at him with his mother's eyes shining out of his fathers face. Slowly he smiled. "I'd like that," Harry whispered. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

It was a greatly changed Remus Lupin who joined the rest of the house for dinner a few hours later.

He had showered, shaved, and cut his hair, once again returning the well groomed form he had displayed as a teacher.

His demeanor was as changed as his outward appearance. He greeted the people he knew with a smile and a nod while lingering over both Narcissa and Bellatrix with a chaste kiss on the back of their hands.

The sisters were pleased at the reception they'd received by everyone; Although Harry could sense that neither was all that comfortable around the werewolf. Their prejudices ran deep and werewolves were among the most hated beings in the entire Wizarding world. Still, Harry was pleased that the girls could contain the loathing they felt towards him and Hermione for her non-pureblooded status. That meant they would be able to behave themselves once they were in Gryffindor tower.

Molly of course gave them a bone crushing hug and moved straight into mothering mode, complaining that the sisters were far too skinny for women of their height but to never fear because she would fix them right up.

Ron was less awestruck by their beauty than Harry would have imagined based on his reaction to Fleur. He made a few off color jokes about them because of their relation to Dumbledore which made his mother angry but the jokes had the effect of breaking the comfort barrier of the girls and allowing them to truly become part of the group.

Hermione peppered them incessantly with questions about their school in the Alps and what they learned their. Harry marveled and the smooth and casual way Narcissa was able to field her questions and construct a web of lies based solely on the information they'd been given by Dumbledore.

Luna simply gave them both an unsettling smile and a whispery 'hello'.

The meal began in earnest with conversation flowing freely across the table and Harry found himself slipping into companionable talk with everyone, forgetting his problems for a little while. The link he had with the women transmitted their anxiety at the beginning at the beginning of the dinner but it slowly bled away over time.

The women were so at ease with their surroundings that not even Dumbledore himself joining them for dinner half-way through the meal was able to shake the enjoyment they'd built up.

It was Harry himself which changed the mood of the table. He was quite simply caught off guard when Dobby popped in to clear away the plates at the end of the meal.

"Master Harry Potter." The house elf screeched excitedly. "Dobby is Master Harry Potter's new House elf." He bowed comically while balancing a dozen plates in his hands. With a pop and golden flash he disappeared.

Harry looked around the table confusedly. "Dobby? Master?" He searched the faces of people trying to divine an answer from their expressions. The nervous glances they shared between each other told up something was up. The train of his thought shifted.

Kreacher.

All the strange things that had been happening over the past few days had caused him to forget about the ignoble little being.

"What happened to Kreacher?" Harry asked slowly.

The table exchanged glances until Dumbledore cleared his throat to explain when it seemed like no one else wanted to explain.

"Kreacher killed himself a few days after Sirius died," he began. "He locked himself away from all of us until one day Dobby popped in. He spoke at some length with Kreacher although I could not say what they spoke about. Mere moments after Dobby was finished Kreacher had hung himself with a shoelace."

"How did Dobby get in?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "House elves have great power even if most wizards refuse to acknowledge it. I believe he bound himself to you as his new master. House elves are capable of popping to any of their master homes, going through wards with ease."

Harry jumped to his feet. "I have to talk to him." He rushed out of the room with speed that surprised almost everyone.

It was good that he did so because it detracted attention from Narcissa Black who had turned ghostly white upon seeing her family's old house elf.

Harry found Dobby in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the large sink a number of dishes and utensils dancing in the air while they cleaned themselves while he waved his hands like a conductor. He spun around when he heard the door open.

"Master Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby said excited. "Does Master Harry need anything? Dobby can get whatever you need."

"I just want to talk to you about this master thing." Harry said.

"Does Master Harry Potter not want Dobby to be his House elf?" The tiny creature's ears wilted with despair at the thought of not being wanted. He reared back his head and prepared to smash it upon the marble edge of the sink in self punishment.

"Dobby, No!" Harry lunged forward to prevent the small creature from braining himself into unconsciousness. "It just surprised me Dobby. I freed you from ever needing to have another master." Harry knelt down so that he was eye level to the bug eyed elf. "I thought you like being free?"

Dobby smiled widely. "Harry Potter is a great wizard. After awful Kreacher-beast betrayed his master Harry Potter needed a house elf to take care of him. Dobby wanted to be that house elf. Dobby chose to be that house elf because Harry Potter gave him that choice. Dobby is free. Free to serve Harry Potter," he finished with great dignity.

Harry could read the earnestness in the elf's eyes. He could hear the sincerity in his voice. And his mind wandered towards what he could do with a loyal house elf. He hated himself for thinking about Dobby in such cold terms.

Of course that didn't stop Harry from smiling at the small creature and accepting his fealty.

* * *

When Harry returned to the dining area everyone stared at him with questioning glances. He shrugged. "I guess I have a house elf."

Hermione's gasp of outrage filled the room. "How could you do that to him, Harry? You freed him just so he could be a slave for you instead. Why?" She asked accusingly.

"He volunteered for it. He wanted it." Harry answered.

"Miss Granger, Dobby just showed how highly he regards Harry by giving up his freedom. And not just his. He bound his family and children into his service for now until they are freed. That's a profound statement of trust." Dumbledore interjected.

The bushy haired witch crossed her arms with a huff but didn't say anything else. It wasn't like she could contradict Albus Dumbledore. Everyone settled back down to their meal. The rest of the dinner past by pleasantly. After everyone finished their desert, Ron pushed back his chair and belched out his pleasure. Hermione and his mother frowned at him in displeasure while Luna looked on in amused indulgence.

"Time for you lot to head up to your rooms." Mrs. Weasley stood up and clapped her hands. "Shoo. Off with you."

The kids stood up with reluctance and looks of annoyance on their faces. With the exception of Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Harry. The two sisters looked confused for a moment at the thought of being sent to their rooms like a pair of children.

Harry just stayed in his seat. "Is there an order meeting tonight?"

Dumbledore nodded silently.

"Then I'm staying," Harry said quietly.

"No you are not, Harry James Potter." Mrs. Weasley said. "The Order of the Phoenix meeting is not for children."

"I'm staying." Harry refused to budge from his position. But neither would he look his surrogate mother in the eye.

"Please, Harry." the matronly woman pleaded. "I don't want you to have to hear such things."

"I need to." An emerald flicker over to Dumbledore. "He knows why."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the old wizard. He did not meet her gaze. Instead he trained his formidable stare at the boy who lived. There was no twinkle in his eye now.

"Harry, your mind is still open to Voldemort. Do you want to put the rest of the order in danger? You would if you learned about our movements." His voice was calm and measured, every inch the commanding wizard.

Harry scoffed. "I doubt legitimency only works on me. You must have some way of protecting your secrets in the rest of the members. And besides, I haven't had a single Voldemort-dream since the department of Mysteries."

"Do not press this thing." Dumbledore whispered. There was no malice in his voice. No desire to hide things for the sake of hiding them. Harry could tell it was simply an honest inclination to protect him from the dark things which infested the Wizarding World.

"Dobby." Harry whispered the name of his house elf, instinct telling him that the creature would come to his call. The greenish elf appeared with a slight golden pop. He smiled widely at his new master.

"What can Dobby do for Master Harry Potter?"

"Can you remove anyone from my house if I wish it?" Harry asked softly.

He kept his gaze firmly on Dumbledore. He studiously avoided Molly Weasley. He didn't think he would be able to do what needed to be done if he had to look at her in the eye.

Dobby's expressive ears wilted. His great eyes darted between the old wizard and his young master. "Dobby can do that." He whispered in a tremulous voice.

Harry saw the fight die in Dumbledore's eyes but he didn't exult in his victory. Instead he simply felt as old as Dumbledore looked. "You're going to let me into the meeting because I am Lord Black, master of an old and powerful family. I have a seat on the Wizngamot and the British delegation of the International confederation of Wizards. I've dueled him, which is more than most of the order can say. I can say his name without flinching, which again is more than most of the people in the Order can say." Harry said all this without moving from his chair. Slowly he stood up. All eyes in the dining room were on him; his friends with worried expressions as they feared Harry would go too far in his demands.

"Most of all you're going to let me into the order meeting because; You. Are. In. My. House!" His eyes flashed and Harry crossed his hands with determined defiance.

The whole room waited with bated breath as the two wizards stared at each other. Finally Dumbledore sighed. "Very well Harry. You can stay for the meeting."

"Albus, no!" Molly Weasley cried out.

"He is right, Molly." Dumbledore never looked older. "I have no right to hid this from him. He, above all others, has earned the right to hear what is happening." He glanced at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "You are correct Harry. There is a magic I can use to shield your mind from intrusion."

"I simply do not think you would be willing to pay the charms price."

* * *

Narcissa Black stared at the veela-haired wand she so carefully polished. She sighed and looked around. The room that she and Bellatrix had been given was a nice, well-appointed room with two four poster beds and an adjoining bath. She recalled this room in another life, when she and her sister had visited their aunt, Sirius' mother. That was the whole problem.

She had been sixteen the last time she'd stayed in this room, too.

Merlin, how she hated being this age! She still felt the humiliation of her disastrous attempt to gain entrance into the order of the phoenix meeting after Harry's masterful manipulation of events. Molly Weasley had laughed at her. After that she had fled up the stairs without waiting for anyone else.

Laughed at her!

She was only a few years younger than the fat red-head and that woman had the temerity to treat her as if she was a fresh off her NEWTS. They all did. She could still see that damn twinkle in the eyes of the headmaster as he instructed his 'niece' that she was much too young to hear such things.

It wasn't as if Bella was any help either. The girl had become positively childish after the potion had begun to remove the damage dark magic had done to her mind and soul. If she wasn't so glad to see the change in her sister she'd slap some of the giddiness out of Bella herself. It was rather irritating.

Narcissa was still attempting to figure out why she had spoken up all of a sudden. All of sudden she was just speaking out of turn and everyone was looking at her. It was these bloody teenage hormones. They were an affliction the first time around and they as much as a curse the second time around.

And on top of everything else she was developing a pimple on her chin.

She couldn't even brush her platinum hair to comfort herself because of this damn disguise. She was forced hide who she was, as if she was ashamed of herself. Forced to wear a different face and hair and now she could hardly stand to look herself in the mirror with this strange face staring back. Ahhh, well. It was necessary and at least she was still pretty.

Priorities and all that.

Aside from that damn pimple.

"Are…are we interrupting anything?"

Narcissa turned around. Hermione Granger, that young mudblood friend of Harry's was standing in the doorway with an amusingly anxious look plastered all over her face. Behind her the other children in the house, Bella towering over everyone else with that ridiculously exaggerated height of hers.

"No of course not, Hermione."

Inwardly Narcissa sighed. She had little desire to play with the children and pretend she was as young as the face she wore. The bushy haired witch took a seat opposite her and the older witch took the time to study the mudblood. She was a pretty enough witch in a librarian sort of way. She was slender and possessed well shaped eyes. Aside from her riot of dull brown hair and the tenderness she exhibited from some kind of fresh injury she could be called conventionally pretty. In a witch next door sort of way. But that wasn't why Narcissa spoke with the mudblood, an act that she would have never countenanced just a little while ago. The reason was simple curiosity. Over the years she had heard enough complaints about Hermione Granger from her son to find the girl at least mildly interesting based solely on her reputation as a know it all.

Right now she didn't seem all that confidant. Her eyes darted back and forth while she tried to formulate her thoughts into words. Narcissa watched with detached amusement.

_Not a politician, this one _

"So I…We…wanted to see how you were doing." She eventually said. "After what happened downstairs and everything."

Ron made his way into the room. "My mum can be something else if you don't know her, but she means well. After what happened before school let out, she's just more protective." He rolled his eyes. "If that's even possible."

Hermione smiled and Luna giggled with amusement at Ron's description of his mother.

Bella sat down on the bed. "What happened before school let out?" She shot a glance at Narcissa that clearly said "play along."

Ginny answered. "You-Know-Who sent Harry a dream during OWLs last year. He showed Harry that he had captured his godfather. Harry could get in contact with a trustworthy teacher so he went after Sirius himself. And we went with him."

Narcissa looked askew at the students. "You…fought Death Eaters?" she asked incredulously. She had known that Harry had been present where her husband had been captured, but these children. That was a surprise. It could be amusing if not so sad for Lucius.

No, it was amusing, she eventually decided.

"Harry trained all of us himself so we could protect ourselves in a fight. He's a dead good teacher." Ron added proudly. "We, along with a mate of ours, Neville Longbottom, went with Harry. We flew their on the back of Thestrals."

Bellatrix let out a belly laugh. "That's how you got there! By Thestral!" She couldn't restrain herself. She flung herself backwards on the bed and let out a guffaw that lasted for several tear-inducing minutes. "That's the funniest bloody thing I've heard in ages."

_You've been in Azkaban for fifteen bloody years. Of course it's funny to you_

"So what happened?" Narcissa asked impatiently.

"We did a good job at first. Broke into the Department of Mysteries and fought our way down into the prophecy library when we were cornered by Death Eaters. We did good at first but they knocked us out one by one until only Harry and Neville were left." Ron answered. "Then Dumbledore and the order burst in the room and the fight became a lot more even. Harry's godfather was there, because you see, the whole dream had been a trick. His godfather was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange when she shot a spell into him and he fell into the veil of death which I guess is some kind of mysterious magic item they study there. Harry chased her down and that's all I heard about." Ron flushed. "I was rather…"

"…Out of it, I would say. Wouldn't you, Ronald?" Luna's sweet voice added.

Ron shot Luna a look but didn't correct her. Narcissa was too lost in her own thoughts to bother thinking much about Ron and his problems with the strange girl. She had never heard about his death or how he had died. After all that was the same time her husband had been captured so she'd had other things on her mind at the time.

"That's just…awful."

Bellatrix's voice was soft and lacked any of the humor or giddiness of earlier. Narcissa looked up. Her sister was pale and wan. She looked sick with guilt at her place in the story.

"Why did you go?" Narcissa started at the question that her sister whispered after a few minutes of silent brooding.

The other students looked at each other. Narcissa couldn't read anything in their faces. They had a remarkable ability to close off their expressions when their scarred friend was mentioned.

By silent accord, Ron answered for the group. "He's Harry," he said with quiet certainty. "He would go to the ends of the earth for any of us. What else could we do."

"But still," Narcissa argued. "This wasn't about house loyalty. You fought Death Eaters. I wouldn't do that for any of my friends."

Hermione smiled with fondness. "You don't understand. But you will. I don't think there is a person, who knows Harry, really knows him, that wouldn't fight to the end for him. He's inspiring. He's honest." She shrugged, "There's no other way to say it. He's a hero."

This time it was Narcissa's turn to hold a silent communion with her sister. Then she turned back to the muggleborn witch.

"Tell me about him."

* * *

Harry Potter sat in a corner of the Library on a conjured chair and beneath a disillusionment charm so that no one would know he was attending the meeting. He and Dumbledore had decided that it would be better if no one knew he was attending the meeting to cut down the inevitable argument.

While he sat there and waited for the meeting to begin Harry rubbed his face. The numbing feeling was part of the aftereffect of the Geas the old wizard had lain upon him. The spell sealed the information about the order in Harry's mind so that not even a legimens could remove it. The downside was that he couldn't talk about what he learned to anyone—including his close friends. The knowledge was literally locked inside of him. Dumbledore promised to rescind the spell when Harry became more accomplished as an Occulmens.

The first people to arrive were Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks. The grizzled ex-auror saw through the charm that hid Harry instantly. The barest flicker of approval appeared on his face before he schooled it back into its usual grimace.

Tonks made her way over to the table and flung it around to sit in it backwards. She blew a wad of gum the color of her neon pink hair and started chatting with Remus. Harry noticed that she seemed uncommonly glad to see the werewolf was doing better.

Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were the next pair to walk in. Bill shook hands with everyone while Fleur greeted the Order members with a traditional kiss on the cheek. Bill became deeply engrossed in talk with Remus and Tonks while Fleur started an involved conversation with Molly. Harry was surprised to see the matronly woman speak in halting French with the veela's encouragement.

By twos and threes the rest of the Order the phoenix filed into the room. The last to enter was the greasy Potion Master and spy, Severus Snape.

Harry felt an irrational surge of hate towards the teacher and only fought down the urge when he felt the wand in his hand and was mere moments away from cursing the ex-Death Eater.

Once everyone was seated Dumbledore called the meeting to order and made a sweeping motion with his wand. Runes on the wall that had been previously hidden flared into momentary life. Wards against intrusion and magical spies, Harry realized.

"Welcome," Dumbledore intoned gravely. "First we will have our reports." Harry leaned forward with keen interest. This was why he'd gone to all the damn trouble. He was finally going to learn something.

The reports by the members of the order were anything but comforting, Harry soon realized. Attacks were coming with frightening frequency now that Voldemort couldn't hide his presence any longer. Vampires, trolls, and darker things were being reported along the outskirts of muggle populations and more than one witch or wizard had been forced to defend themselves and their families from dark creatures. Death Eaters had killed dozens of muggles and muggleborns and Dark Marks shone over destroyed homes nearly every week.

The information made Harry's blood turn to ice but that wasn't the worst thing Harry heard. Amelia Susan Bones, head of the magical law enforcement division of the ministry had survived an assassination attempt. The aunt of one of his DA members, the administrator was attacked at her home one night by several vampires and a two trolls. It was with great relish that Kingsly Shacklebolt reported that time had not dulled the former auror's dueling skills. When he and a squad of hit wizards had apparated to her home after they discovered the wards had been breached, they found the Ministry Official surrounded by the smoking corpses of her would be assassins.

Fleur was the next to speak. She reported that several small communities of veela and their half breed children had agreed to give aid to the order in exchange for promises of future political aid. Apparently veela's, despite their beauty, were not held in high regard because of their magical creature status. Fleur told the group that there were many Voldemort sympathizers in France, even among the school masters of Beauxbatons.

"Thank you Fleur. That is certainly disturbing news. Severus?" Dumbledore turned the floor over to his spy.

"I have several pieces of news." The greasy man began. "Some of it is welcome but most is not." The group started to rumble but he quieted the lot with a sour look. "First of all, the dark lord has not fully healed from the battle at the department of mysteries." He sneered. "He is certain that Potter has found some sort of secret magic that could be used to hurt him, but I find that in serious doubt."

"Harry has reported no untoward dreams." Albus added. "That seems to indicate that he was able to do something to Tom."

"The boy," Snape spat, "is a dunderhead. He was unable to learn even the most basic forms of Occlumany after months of tutoring. And the dark lord was easy able to twist those idiotic Gryffindor sympathies of his. I find it difficult to believe he could have done something so damaging to the Dark Lord."

Harry curled his fists. Rage welled up in him and he wanted nothing more than to plaster that great beak of a nose across his cheek. He calmed himself with several breaths. Luckily he had friends in the room.

Tonks, who was busy altering the shape of her nails with a furrow writ across her face, spoke up. "I forget, Severus, what does your Patronus look like?" after asking the question she quickly plastered a look of mock realization on her face. "I'm sorry, I forgot, you can't cast one." She looked over at Remus with a smile. Harry could have kissed Tonks at that moment. Well except for Remus looked like he wanted to kiss her more. "Remmie, what does Harry's look like? I can't remember."

The werewolf smiled at her kindly before answering. "I believe it's a stag, like his fathers Animagus form."

Tonks turned back around. "Mmmm, it seems that Harry was able to learn a very advanced charm, one you can't cast, but still you insist he's a dunderhead. Why is that?"

"Listen, you pink haired harlot, I don't care what you and your pet dog-

Remus jumped to his feet and in a flash had his wand in his hand. "Apologize to Tonks, Severus or-"

"ENOUGH!"

Albus Dumbledore silenced the argument with a bellow that echoed through the chamber mightily. Remus immediately lowered his wand and looked chastised. Snape was slower to calm. Tonks kept blowing bubbles, probably to help calm her nerves since the bubbles hid her face.

"Remus, Severus, if we fight amongst each other, Tom has already won." He chastised in a much softer voice. "We must work together, in order to defeat him." Snape and Remus muttered insincere apologies towards each other but Dumbledore didn't seem to notice. He smiled indulgently and beckoned Snape to continue.

"The second bit good news was the Dark Lord sent an envoy to the Shadow Ryu in Japan." Harry didn't know who they were but they didn't sound friendly. Why would Snape be pleased about them?

Dumbledore seemed to have the same thought. "They are among the dangerous magical assassins in the world. How is that a good thing?"

Snape grinned. It was the scariest thing Harry had ever seen. "Because the Chunin of the Ryu sent back the envoy with their answer. He was missing his head."

An old witch that Harry didn't recognize spoke up. "Does that mean we could form an alliance with them?"

Alastor Moody shook his scared head. "No, the Shadow Ryu's aren't any allies of ours." He tapped his leg. "I lost this fighting one of them during the war with Grindlewald. Their as evil as they come, but they have honor. And they like muggles. Or at least they like the muggles of their culture. They won't fight for us, but they'll stay out of the fight and we should all thank Merlin for such mercy," he finished in a dead whisper.

Even Snape was humbled for a moment by the dangerous memories which threatened to overwhelm the old auror. He cleared his throat. "The Dark Lord is planning some kind of break out at Azkaban but I do not know the specifics. I have been busy with other tasks on his behalf. He's discovered several ancient Egyptian scroll fragments that contain the secrets to the Elixir of Life. He's had me experimenting with the fragments to try and divine the remaining parts of the formulae."

Upset murmurs broke out when the order heard Voldemort had fragments of the Elixir of Life in his possession. "Is there any way for you to alter the potion, perhaps poison Voldemort."

Dumbledore intervened. "Severus has already volunteered such action, but I have vetoed it. It is far too dangerous to attempt for Severus and I highly doubt the Heir of Slytherin would fall prey to so simple a thing as a magical toxin."

"One last thing." Snape said. "At the last meeting of the inner circle I saw Andreas Nott."

Once again the order burst into murmurs at the news the spy brought. Harry didn't understand the significance of the name, aside from it was shared by a Slytherin in his year.

Tonks apparently shared his confusion. "Not to show my age or anything, but who is Andreas Nott? I recognize the family but I don't recall the man."

Moody spoke up. "He was the worst of Voldemort's death eaters the last time around. A dark wizard of great skill, Andreas managed to escape the purges after the last war ended." He grew disgusted. "Almost caught him myself, but he called up one of the bound demons he has, a great spidery monstrosity, and got away while I was busy." He tapped his scarred nose. "Chewed off most of this, before I banished the bugger." The old Auror looked at the head of the order. "This is bad, Dumbledore. There aren't a dozen Aurors in the ministry who can banish so much as an imp right now. If he's going to start calling up demons we'll be in some real trouble."

"There is no evidence that he's going to start dealing with infernal powers, Alastor." Dumbledore answered.

"Actually, I think there might be evidence of that." Apple cheeked Hestia Jones spoke up timidly. She turned red when every face turned towards her. "I…that…You had sent me to the Italian Ministry because my aunt is the Undersecretary of Catholic Cooperation. My aunt and I had made reservations to go out to dinner when she got an emergency floo call. A murder had happened in a park located in muggle Rome. She had to go oblivitate the officers in charge and begin a proper investigation. She invited me to go along." Hestia drew a sharp breath. "I've been having nightmares about what I saw for the past week. It was awful. It was something out a muggle horror movie. The ground was soaked in the blood of the bodies. Three girls. They had pentagrams and Hebrew phrases carved into their skin. One of their chests had burst open, like something had crawled its way out of her body. It was a demon calling ritual if ever there was one." The young woman had the entire order captive with her words. "You know what I am, what I do for a living. I neither frighten easily nor am I squeamish. But I still hear the squish of my feet from when I walked through their blood. My aunt said that it was the work of La Croce Nera di Judas—the Black Cross of Judas. I haven't had time to do research on the group since I just got back from Italy yesterday. Have you heard of them, sir."

"The Black Cross is the longest lasting Dark Brotherhoods in the world. Most groups such as theirs are like Death Eaters. They have a strong central figure who keeps them together and when that figure is brought down the group crumbles under the weight of their own corruption. The Black Cross is different. They've been in existence since the time of the Christ. Formed by the traitor Apostle, he betrayed the Christ after he learned all he could about the binding of demons and Angels from him. He formed a group of twelve of his own dark apostles. Down through the centuries the group has never had more than thirteen members, all of them former clergy or excommunicated church members. They seek to destroy the Pax Angelis—the seals which prevent demons from freely traveling to earth and the only thing keeping the Lightbringer trapped within its prison. Indeed, if Voldemort has made common ground with La Croce Nera then he has sunk completely into madness. The Black Cross serves no master but those Dark Powers they have enslaved themselves to."

Harry shivered. He had never heard of the group before. Religion and Wizardry was something that wasn't usually taught in History of Magic. Whoever they were, they sounded evil.

Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who thought so. "This is bad, Dumbledore," Moody grumbled. "These young aurors, they haven't seen the black circle in action." Tonks elbowed him in the side in outrage at the slight against her.

"True, Alastor. What do you suggest?" Dumbledore asked.

"Contact retired aurors. Men and women who saw what Grindlewald's war looked like. I guarantee any survivor of any significance from that war will know what to do if they see a demon. They've seen them before." He added grimly. "Secondly I would get in contact with the church, specifically the Order of Saint Michael and the Order of Saint George. Their kind as more experience with the Black Circle than any auror or ministry."

The old wizard nodded. "I agree completely." He turned to Hestia. "Miss Jones, can you be our liaison to the Church. I believe your aunt could be invaluable in serving as a bridge for us and you already know your way around."

The young witch nodded.

"Is there any thing else before I hand out orders." The old headmaster asked.

Bill Weasley raised his hand. "I ran into something odd at Gringotts yesterday. Narcissa Malfoy's private account was completely cleaned out and canceled. I tried to trace where the money went and I couldn't find it." He grinned. "She must have paid a pretty knut for the goblins to fudge their books like they did." Then he lost his smile. "What's odd is that I found divorce papers for both Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry grew cold. Was Dumbledore going tell the order what happened? What the sisters had done? A strange surge of protectiveness filled hi. He wouldn't let the order take the sisters away—not even if he had to fight the whole order to do it.

"Impossible," scoffed an old wizard Harry didn't know. He had a tanned patrician face and wore a plain black robe with a stiff roman collar. "Bellatrix and Narcissa would never divorce their husbands. I married them. I would know. Bella was devoted to Rudolphous, and while Narcissa was much more pragmatic, she loved her status too much to divorce him."

"But she doesn't have that status anymore." Bill argued. "And Bellatrix could be having second thoughts after so much time in prison and You-Know-Who's loss at the Ministry. Why couldn't they be having second thoughts about their loyalty?"

Moody sneered. "Bellatrix has killed enough people to bathe in their blood. You didn't see the Longbottoms after they were left to her tender mercies. She's so deep in the dark arts I doubt if she has the conscience left to even consider changing sides. Narcissa might have cleaner hands than her sister, but she's done her share of evil deeds and she's always turned a blind eye from those of her husband's. She's a collaborator if there ever was one. No, lad, a lion would sooner lay down with a lamb than either of those join our side."

* * *

After that the order was issued their orders by Dumbledore. Moody was sent to talk with several of his friends who happened to be retired Aurors with experience in the daemonic realms. Hestia Jones made plans to go back to Rome in order to coordinate with the church and the Italian Ministry. Harry was surprised to learn the Bill was leaving Gringotts so he could teach Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Fleur would be going back to France to talk with veela and other magical creature communities for Dumbledore.

The order was dismissed and soon Harry was left alone with the headmaster. The old wizard banished the disillusionment charm with a casual wave of his hand and motioned for Harry to join him at the Orders table.

"What did you think about the Order, Harry?"

"It was impressive." Harry admitted. "I was surprised to see so many order members were doing things out of the country. Did Voldemort even make it out of Britain last time?"

"He has Death Eaters in many ministries although his strength is here in Britain. Sadly the philosophy he espouses is not restricted to our land. Truly, most places in the world see purebloods as more worthy of respect than muggleborns. Really, only the United Wizarding States, Australia, and Africa are free from such prejudices."

"Why those places?" Harry asked, interested in the answer. This was very different than the history and politics he'd leaned in Binns class. It was actually interesting.

The old wizard's eyes twinkled. "Australia is not well regarded in Wizarding circles. Their magic is a mixture of rather borderline practices from low born criminal elements banished from England and aboriginal sorceries. As for the United States, there are still wizards who remember and still refer to the states as 'those bloody colonials'. Africa was not the birthplace of magic, Atlantis was, but the wizards and witches there represent the oldest pure practitioners on the planet. So they console themselves, by pretending their skin color and refined culture makes them better wizards. It's sad really, but our culture changes at the pace of a glacier and it has a very long memory."

"This is all very interesting, Headmaster, but ..." Harry interrupted.

"No, I suppose we should move on. Perils of being an old teacher you understand." The old wizard folded his robed arms carefully. "We must discuss what you are going to do for the rest of summer."

"Why? I could just stay here. I'm involved in Order meetings now. You could have Order members here train me since I'm the one that has to defeat Voldemort." Harry was curious now. That twinkle meant something, but what?

"Training? Harry, Voldemort has been practicing some of the darkest arts known to this plane of reality for more than sixty years. I could give you a time turner and lock you in the room of requirement for the entire year of school and you emerge no more prepared to face Voldemort than before. You are a wizard of astounding power, but it will take decades before you reach the peak of your powers. I don't know what the prophecy speaks of, but I can tell you one thing, it is not a matter of training or raw strength, it is something born of who you are and what Tom as given up." Dumbledore smiled kindly down at the boy who lived. Harry, despite his problems with the old wizard, was profoundly comforted by his words. "Have no fear, Harry, when the time comes you'll do what is right. You are incapable of doing anything else."

"So then what am I going to do?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled. "I'm sending you to get training of course."

"What!"

"Relax, Harry. After our discussion at the end of last year, I wanted to avoid further mistakes. So I decided to do something I had not done in some time. I meditated and consulted my inner eye."

"I'm confused."

"Don't be." Dumbledore consoled the teen. "All wizards—with the proper mental discipline—can tap into the core of their magic and seek out guidance. It is not Seeing per say. It is more of an instinct, a sixth sense that can guide a wizard towards what he wants. I sought out my core and sought out the path that would lead to your winning this conflict. And not just win, but win and live a life of peace and joy to make up for what you've had to endure thus far in your life. The feeling I got was most curious. And the one that was most contrary to my nature. If I wanted to keep you close, I had to send you away."

"Where, professor?" Harry was curious now. The feeling had to be indeed powerful if he was willing to go against his protective instincts and leave Harry alone."

"France. I knew you would become the next Lord Black and I contacted one of your family members on the mainland. A lovely, if eccentric young woman who spends a large portion of her time on various private ventures from around the world. She has agreed to allow you and your young friends to stay at her Chateau. Remus will accompany you as a chaperon. It overlooks a village of lower class wizard vassals to the Family of Black. The wards around the home and village are quite adequate and the bond between a lord and his vassals will prevent them from betraying you. I do not know what will occur there but I do know it will plant the seeds of Tom's eventual destruction."

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes. Dumbledore did not pressure Harry to speak. His pale blue eyes simply watched Harry without judgment, waiting to see what Harry would say.

"Professor, do you think what Moody said was true? About Narcissa and Bellatrix not being able to change? Are we wasting our time?" Harry asked earnestly.

"The sisters are deeply wounded people with many demons and sins to make up for, but I believe they can change."

Harry wanted to believe the man but after Snape he had a hard time trusting the older wizard's judgment. Still, the old wizards assurances did some good in making him feel better about having linked with the girls.

"So Harry, I believe you wanted to speak to me about something important." Dumbledore asked casually.

The Philosophers Stone. Harry had forgotten about the alchemical talisman completely after everything else that had happened. He opened his mouth to tell the professor when he realized he wanted to keep the secret. He wanted the stone to be for him only. He wanted to be the one to hold the cards for once.

"Uhh…it was nothing, Professor. Don't worry about it." Harry hedged. It did not take a legimencer to know the aged leader did not believe Harry.

"I wish you would confide in me more, Harry."

"Like you've confided in me, Professor?" Harry retorted. "How many secrets have you hid from me? Are still hiding from me?"

"I've made mistakes with you, Harry. But I want to make up for them, Harry. Please," the wizard begged, "let me in."

Harry shook his head. "Someday, Professor, someday."

"But not today."

* * *

Several hours later Harry was making his way to the bedroom he was sharing with Ron when he saw a pale silver light bobbing up and down in the hallway. Cautiously, Harry drew his wand and advanced. He lowered his wand when he saw who it was.

Luna Lovegood stood in the hallway with a pale globe of light bouncing over her shoulder. She bent dramatically at the waist while she stared at an invisible speck on the ground. She cocked her head to see Harry. It was an odd sight to be sure and Harry marveled at Luna's flexibility in her contortions.

"Lovely evening, Harry. Would you care to help me find the African Dust Bunny?" She asked dreamily. "I swear I saw one earlier but now it's gone."

"I'm sort of tired." Harry hedged.

Luna stood back up. The silvery mote, which was no bigger than a firefly, floated between Harry and Luna. She smiled softly at the boy who lived and Harry felt a surge of warmth. It was the same feeling he had when she talked with him on the last day of classes. Luna radiated a serenity that was truly infectious for those who took the time to get to know her. "How are you doing, Harry?"

"Better than before." He answered just as softly. "Thank you for talking with me at school. It helped some."

She smiled. "You're welcome of course, Harry."

Harry got a serious look on his face. "Luna, if anyone bothers you at school, let me know. I'm not going to let anyone bully you this year."

"You don't have to do that for me, Harry. I get on well enough. Besides, Ronald has already graciously offer to 'take the mickey' out of anyone who bothers me. Hermione also said she would hex anyone who took my things. It's quite overwhelming really to have so many people looking out for me."

"We care about you, Luna. You're our friend." Harry grinned a little. "I am surprised that Ron agreed to help you. He always thought you were a little odd."

"He has warmed up to me over the summer."

Harry, for the first time, really looked at Luna. He looked past the wild hair, the wide eyes, and the odd ornaments. He saw her slender face, the long torso which gave her the illusion of height, the slim hips and narrow waist. He realized that Luna was actually quite pretty, although unconventionally so.

"I'll bet he has."

* * *

Narcissa stared up into the black heavens. Stars filled the sky like tiny diamonds seeded across a blanket of ebony velvet. She lost herself in their majesty as her family members of old once did. There was a reason why her family developed the convention of naming their scions after stars and constellations. Something about the heavens caused the magic in her soul to sing and lift upwards. As it was for Blacks uncounted through the centuries

It had been a long time since she'd bothered to look up at the sky.

"Beautiful night."

Bellatrix's voice rang out softly behind her. Narcissa turned around and smiled at her. She beckoned her sister over. Bellatrix walked over to the railing and looked up.

"That's what I hated the most about Azkaban." The elder sister whispered. "I could never see the sky. I missed it. Once I remember there was a small crack in the ceiling which let in some moonlight on clear nights. It was the sky pouring crystal clear water into my cell. I wanted to bathe in the moonlight more than I wanted to bathe in water." Narcissa looked at her sister and for the first time saw just how haunted the years at Azkaban had left her. Bellatrix asked her sister softly, "What are you thinking about?"

Narcissa pointed out a constellation. "Andromeda." She said. "I was thinking about our sister. It's funny. She was the bad one. The white sheep of the family. The one father disinherited while we got everything. We did exactly as we were trained. We married well, did our duty to preserve our blood. I had a child." Her voice trailed off

"But." Bellatrix prompted.

"She's the only one who's happy." Narcissa finished in a whisper. "A husband she loves. A child she can be proud of. Even modest wealth. A life that for all her disobedience is better than either of ours."

The sisters sat in silence for a while and simply stared into the sky.

"Do you know what the sorting hat told me when I was sorted?" Narcissa asked. Her sister shook her head. "It told me that I would do best in Slytherin because while I was smart enough for Ravenclaw, I was too ambitious for it. Ravenclaws were content to learn magic for its own sake, but I wanted more. I wanted to conquer spell crafting. Have my name in a book of spells; be in a history text as the discoverer of some rare spell or new type of magic. When I graduated I had the world in my hands. Even after I married Lucius I was going to do great things. Then Lucius 'decided' that he wanted a wife who did not do something as low as work. I'm not going to give up my dreams for anyone this time around."

"I've decided that I'm going to be a beater for the Harpies when I graduate." Bellatrix said. "Smashing a bludger just seems like fun."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Only you would get a second chance at life and decide to take up the most violent job on a Quiddich pitch. But at least you have a firm plan for the future."

"We're all going to need a firm plan for the future. Luckily I have one."

The sisters turned around. Harry stood in the doorway of the terrace. He left the entryway and walked toward both of them. Narcissa and Bellatrix watched the young wizard stride forward with confidence. Apparently being let into the Order of the Phoenix meeting was good for the boy.

"Hello Harry." Narcissa greeted pleasantly. Bellatrix arched an eyebrow at the rather friendly reaction to the Boy-Who-Lived by her naturally cold sister.

"I've been thinking." Harry started.

"That's a good start." Bellatrix encouraged mockingly.

He shot her a quieting look. "I've been thinking about what's next. Dumbledore is sending the three of us plus Ron, Hermione, and Luna to Chateau Black in France. We'll be under the supervision of Remus. His inner eye told him we need to be alone but for what he doesn't know."

The sisters exchanged looks. Chateau Black was the home of Countess Dominique Black. She was a strange witch who obsessed over self transfiguration and Animagus forms. While neither sister had met the woman, they had heard some rather odd stories of her Chateau. It was a safe place to spend the rest of the summer if one that was a little perplexing.

"What does that have to do with us?" Narcissa asked.

"We have a whole lot of books with a lot of spell knowledge and we have you. You can teach us a lot, including apparation. We need to know as much as we can. More importantly you can help me get in touch with the leaders of the other branches of the Black family."

"Why." Narcissa arched her eyebrow questioningly.

"Because the family is going to take the war to Voldemort."

On the face of it the announcement was ridiculous, Narcissa realized. Harry Potter was a child, a boy with great potential but not potential that could be realized before Voldemort crushed him like a bothersome insect. And he would never be able to command the other leaders of the family. He was too young, too untried. Still something made her realize that he was dead serious about his declaration. It was his eyes she realized

They reflected the light of the thousand stars that shone in the night sky. He met the gaze of the two women and held them firm. It wasn't the gaze of a child; it was the stare of a man. A man on a mission. All of a sudden Narcissa no longer had any doubt that the Lord of the Black Family was about to make the Dark Lord regret he ever heard the name Harry Potter.

* * *

Okay, so I was re-reading Enders Game the other day and I thought, what would ender do to beat Voldemort? Spawned a few ideas for Harry to have fun with.

Read and review


	6. Blackwards Jumps

The Redemption of the Black Sisters

Part 5

By Phoenixgod2000

* * *

_A Journey of a thousand miles begins with a single footstep_

_The footsteps of some are louder than others_

_ --The Journal of Androlphus Black_

_September 22 1996 _

_Eight weeks after the last part_

Venice, Italy. A city of memories. An ancient icon of Renaissance remembrance, Venice was steeped in history like few other places in Europe. Once the premiere bastion of Italian mercantilism, Venice was no longer the power it once was. Nevertheless, the ancient city of canals still possessed charms that it employed to great effect. Tourists walked the brightly lit streets buying curios as the city traded on its history and its fading beauty. Venice during the day was a city of tarnished glory, but no less proud for its tarnish.

Venice at night was another beast entirely.

Ancient memories could take physical form in some cities. Things of dark consciousness and fiendish appetites roamed the canals and causeways of Venice when the sun went below the horizon. It was a thing never spoken of, yet understood by the inhabitants of the old city. Natives clutched their crosses and said their prayers while evil things preyed on those who did not understand the dangers of old cities at twilight. And while the beasts hunted during the night, even they needed a lair for their day slumbers.

The largest of these unholy lairs was the mansion known as the House of Murder.

Forty seven years ago the mansion that would later gain the moniker House of Murder was simply the home of a moderately wealthy Italian of noble rank, his ex-model wife, and their children. The husband and wife were the toast of the party circuit and their children were going to be among the most eligible in Europe once they matured. No one knows exactly why the noble went mad and killed his family but there is no doubt that was exactly what he did. After executing his wife and two sons while they slept, he was found wandering the streets near his home smeared with the remains of their viscera. The grisly murders rocked the ancient city. Such was the reputation developed by the house it languished for decades unowned by anyone. The home lapsed into disrepair and the grounds became overgrown with weeds and flowers run rampant. The neighbors had so become used to its state of disrepair that when a mysterious investor bought the house more than twenty years after the killings they were all caught totally by surprise. The investor even paid a much larger sum than the house was worth considering its history. Seemingly overnight the house transformed itself back into its state of former glory. The neighbors were excited about the new owners, but they never appeared. At least in daylight.

Unsurprising since the new owners were vampires.

The House of Murder was the haven for the most powerful group of vampires in Venice. By day the house was as quiet as a tomb and sealed in a similar fashion. But the night was a different story. The master vampire of the coven brought his children to Italy to enjoy themselves. And enjoyed themselves they did with bloody orgies and nightly revels. The vampire coven lived their blissful blood soaked existence carefree until Voldemort approached the master to be his beachhead of darkness for Venice and eventually all of Italy.

Giuseppe Fiori watched the house from the other side of the street and thought about the home's history and the parasites which have taken up residence there. Giuseppe was an Italian pureblood who had been recruited for Voldemort's eventual mainland takeover once the Dark Lord controlled Britain. The young wizard was the only death eater in a well known family of pureblooded light wizards. Disinherited for his views and studies, Giuseppe turned towards the Dark Lord once his family abandoned him. This has led him to the point he now found himself—about to enter a den of vampires.

Gathering his courage and gripping his wand he strode forward towards the creatures lair. The grounds were well-maintained and roses as well as more exotic flowers filled the warm night with heady perfume. On this particular evening the purplish hue of black lights shone from the windows and Giuseppe could feel the steady heartbeat of techno music thrum through his body. Silhouettes of human shapes caroused past the windows in seductive dance that had the young Italian's pulse racing. When he knocked on the door it was opened by a stunning redhead with deep set sapphire eyes and ruby lips.

"What?" she hissed in a sibilant voice.

Giuseppe gulped. The stunning vampiress licked a drop of crimson that hung from the corner of her mouth with a serpentine flicker of her tongue as she waited for him to answer. He had interrupted her during a feeding. "The Dark Lord commanded me to meet with your master." He straightened his spine, drawing comfort by the cloak of authority that came with being a herald of Voldemort.

Her nostrils flared and with a violent twist of her torso she beckoned him into the house.

The long hallway she led him down was filled with the pulse of music. Black lights and sickly sweet smells he could not place confused his senses and disoriented him. He peeked into various open doors and in every room a vampire was toying with a mortal in some twisted fashion. In one room, a stunning brunet female sucked blood from a certain part of the male anatomy. In another room, a vampire male wearing black leather pants whipped a nude woman tied to a rack yet the cries the woman made were anything but cries of anguish. In yet a third room a pair of stunning female twins writhed together with incestuous lust, their nude figures spotted with blood from a corpse that lay forgotten at the foot of their bed. The desires that were played out in every room were the stuff of the darkest fantasies humanity could dredge from their collective mind. Still, Giuseppe was too aroused by the naked sensuality of what he was seeing and smelling to be truly disturbed by the images.

The vampire stopped in front of a closed doorway at the end of the hall. "He's in there," she motioned. "Speak reverently mortal; my master reacts poorly when his games are disturbed," she warned.

She smiled widely—too widely for a human mouth--revealing a pair of scythe-like fangs. Giuseppe shivered. He could read desire in her eyes. It wasn't desire for sex or food. It wasn't for companionship or his body. No, what she wanted—and would take if he did not bear the protection of his master—was blood. His blood, his magic, his very soul was the feast that she wanted from him.

And a part of him wanted to give it to her.

The red-headed vampire disappeared and Giuseppe opened the door once he recovered from her distracting presence. The door led into a richly appointed bedroom. Exotic woods paneled the walls of the room and furniture of great antiquity decorated the room. Painting of artists which left Giuseppe reeling added an air of sophistication to the room.

But it wasn't the inanimate decorations which were the most impressive. It was the living ornaments which left the young death eater nearly speechless. Lying on the bed was an elderly man tended to by several nude women of astonishing beauty. He was nuzzling the neck hollow of a stunning Arabic woman's throat while a pair of twin blonds of uncommon beauty rubbed oils into his wrinkled skin. All three women had round full breasts, slim, athletic hips, and supple oiled skin of their own. Every last one of them had a look of absolute rapture on their face which told of heavy handed conditioning. The old man looked up from his diversion and it was look in his eye that told Giuseppe he was face to face with the Master Vampire of the house.

"Who are you?" The vampire hissed in a papery tone.

Giuseppe gulped. The vampire had plainly been old when he had been turned. He was short and slightly stoop shouldered. His face was lean and hawkish with a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. Lines of deep set age gave lie to the rumor that all vampires were young and attractive. His head was shaven nearly bald, with only a slight growth of white hair preventing the vampire from having a shining egg like pate.

"I bring greeting from Lord Voldemort." Giuseppe said, praying that he sounded smoother to the vampire than he did to his own ears.

"What does the Dark Lord wish with his humble servant?" The vampire voice was completely within the bounds of respect but the young Italian death eater saw in his eyes just how little of a servant the vampire truly was. _My Lord wishes me to tame a lion_

"Lord Voldemort is concerned about the number of vampire covens that have been destroyed in the past weeks. He wants to make sure there will be sufficient forces for the mainland conquest once he decides to take the war further."

The ancient creature shook off the wizards concerns. "I am unconcerned. There are few master vampires of my age and strength still active in Europe. The ones that have been destroyed were covens of the young and foolish." He smiled, revealing a pair of needle-like fangs. "I've long since outgrown either of those flaws. Hunters have come for me and mine in the past and I've always destroyed them. I will destroy them again if I must. But if your lord is so concerned he can send a lackey capable of creating suitable wards for my home."

"He is your lord a well." Giuseppe retorted. He realized he may have gone too far when the vampire flashed forward in a blur and flung him against the wall as if he weighed nothing.

"You forget yourself _infant_." The vampire was next to him in an eye blink. "I was ancient when the founders of Hogwarts were laying the keystone of their precious school. I was old when Merlin was in his swaddling clothes and the religion of the Man-God of the west had not yet decided to hunt my kind down. Your master is _nothing_ compared to me. It amuses me to serve him for the scant years he will reign before he falls onto the ash heap of history along side all of the other tyrants I have served and watched over the millennia." He lifted the wizard up with one hand and pinned against the wall. "Do you hear me boy? Amusement. That is all your lord will ever be to me. I've led armies, fought wars, and ruled lands for centuries longer than Voldemort can comprehend." He whirled around and smashed the wizard into a wardrobe on the other side of the room. "My name is Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus. You _will_ address me with respect I am due."

Giuseppe fumbled for his wand. He had to buy enough time for his head to clear so he could apparate away. He watched warily as the ancient vampire stalked towards him like a hunting cat. The vampire's aura was clearly visible and crackled with barely restrained might. His eyes glowed like twin suns and his fangs curved over his lips like bared swords. He cut an awesome figure before the young death eater. Giuseppe prepared to battle to his death.

A battle that would never happen.

A single moment the young wizard could hurl a curse the house and all its occupants including the raging ancient vampire and the Italian Death Eater perished instantaneously as the mansion with the cursed reputation burst into a maelstrom of crimson flame.

* * *

Across the street a pair of shadowed figures watched the House of Murder go up in crimson flame. They watched as neighbors came out of their homes to watch the cursed home burn. More than one crossed themselves and murmured a prayer of thanksgiving. As the sound of sirens grew closer, one figure turned toward the other.

"Lord Black will be pleased."

"_Selbstverständlich_."

With two nearly silent pops both figures disappeared from the scene.

* * *

_August 15 1996_

_Fifteen days after the last part_

The lair of the dark lord of the death eaters was appropriately dank and dark. Deep beneath the ground of the British Isles was a network of tunnels carved by beings both ancient and nameless. Voldemort had explored those tunnels long ago—as he explored many such unhallow ruins--and much Death Eater gossip centered on what sort of lore he discovered in his exploration. One thing they did know was that he found the lost temple It was called simply the temple and it was protected by the most formidable wards the Dark Lord could invoke.

The temple was located in the heart of the unhallowed warrens beneath the Isles. It was a great pyramid three times larger than the great one located at Giza—long considered to be the greatest architectural creation of any human wizard anywhere. The ancient edifice was crafted of an unknown smooth shadowy stone that could not be marked or carved by any magic known to the death eaters. Despite that, runes and sigils of nefarious portent covered the bricks of the temple. The only entrance was flanked on either side by enormous black statues of wizards with the head and tentacles of octopi. Countless rooms filled the great temple and the centerpiece was a throne room of enormous character.

Andreas Nott knelt on the hard stone of that throne room. The cold of the stone leeched into his legs while he prostrated himself before his lord and master. Voldemort sat on a great obsidian chair, his pale, spidery hands gripping ruby caps on the end of the throne's arms. His ebony robes blended with the black of the Godly chair giving the impression of creature consisting solely of baleful red eyes and pale hands floating above a lightless void.

Off to the side of the throne a half dozen pretty young muggle women huddled together naked. Goosebumps pimpled their skin as they stayed together for warmth and what little decency they could derive from their proximity to each other.

"How goes the young dragon's training, Andreas?" The dark lord asked in a tone of silken danger. "Does he suspect he is our sacrificial lamb?"

"No, my lord. Lucius' son has adequate control over the spell. He'll perform well at the proper time." Andreas kept his face down while he spoke. It never did to look at the Dark Lord while answering. "His health is starting to deteriorate from prolonged use of memory and magic enhancing potions. His knowledge and power is ahead by leaps and bounds but he is being consumed because of the force and cheats with which he is learning." Andreas hesitated but eventually asked the question that had been plaguing him. "Lord, does Lucius know what we are using his son for will kill him?"

"Lucius will have other sons." Voldemort coldly replied.

The tone conveyed to Andreas that his audience was at an end. The Dark Scholar drew in a nervous breath. He had spent enough time around his master to know when the dark lord was perilously close to letting loose his terrible temper. The disappearance of Bellatrix Lestrange had put his master into a foul mood that had yet to lift. His agents found that she and her younger sister, the wife of Lucius Malfoy had both divorced their husbands and disappeared. Voldemort possessed the irrational belief that both had gone over to Dumbledore but Andreas doubted that very highly. It was more likely that the sisters had simply gone into hiding because they feared his defeat.

Swiftly Andreas stood and turned around and superciliously he touched his protection amulet. Bound within the rune covered silver medallion was a demon, one that had once been an angel of protection and it still provided aid despite its fallen status. Comforted by the protection he wore he started towards the exit. He was intercepted by another wizard in robes—but not the robes of a death eater.

The wizard wore the garb of Greek Orthodox Cleric. He was a stout man with a great bushy beard that hung nearly to his waist. The beard was light brown and shot with grey and matched a bushy mustache which nearly covered his mouth. He smiled slightly at Andreas as he walked past. His eyes were kindly and twinkled slightly but despite that, a presence—a rot seemed to hang invisibly around him.

Andreas thought nothing more of the wizard until Voldemort called out, "Andreas. Come back."

The Dark Scholar stiffened and turned back around. What did he want? Was he going to be punished for some imagined slight? Again he approached the black throne. "How can I serve, master?" He asked politely.

Voldemort smiled. It was a dark sinister thing made more so by his thin pink lips and tiny hollow fangs lurking behind his twisted maw. "I believe I may have dismissed you too hastily. You might be interested in our friend here on a professional level. Meet Ivan Rasputin Gregorovich. At one time he was a patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church until the hierarchy discovered some of his more…unique lines of research. Luckily the Black Circle proved less discriminating. "

The Death Eater's mind spun. The Black Circle? Had the Dark Lord gone so mad that he believed trucking with hell bound wizards was to be commended? Despite his misgivings, Andreas let nothing show outwardly. He nodded to the ex-clergy man politely.

"It is an honor to meet such a learned comrade. Your reputation extends even to Russia." The cleric replied back in a thick Russian accent.

"My Lord?" Andreas asked carefully. "The Black Circle helps no one without reason."

"You do not need to know my plans, Nott." Voldemort hissed reprovingly. "Merely know that my activities transcend your feeble understanding."

The Dark Scholar bowed deeply. "I apologize of course, Master; I am merely surprised at the nature of your allies." He glanced quickly at the nude girls that still huddled in the corner. "May I assume that they're payment? Sport for the Black Circle?"

The bearded wizard began to laugh and even Voldemort smiled slightly. "No, Comrade." Ivan answered. "They are not for our…amusement."

"They're food."_

* * *

Somewhere in the South East of France_

_August 2nd, One day after the end of the previous part_

Château Black has had many names down throughout the centuries of Black ownership. The most prominent of those many names was the Black Emerald of France. It was name so for the distinctive emerald hued slate tiles which roofed the ancient dwelling as well as the roofed the homes of the village below it.

The Château was built as two separate dwelling next to each other in an L shape. Nestled in between the two halves of the home were a swimming pool, garden maze, and a Quiddich pitch.

It was built on a large hill overlooking l'endroit d'émeraudes, The Place of Emeralds. The beautifully named village was a vassal to House Black. The village of several hundred lived simple lives away from the travails of the larger Wizarding world. Wards laid down centuries ago shielded the mansion and its subject village from the expansion of the muggle world and the dangers of the more cosmopolitan parts of the Wizarding World. The villagers lived the simple life of wizard-vintners and grape harvesters beneath the protection of the French branch of the Black Family.

Harry and his friends marveled at the inside of the mansion. Smooth oak furnished and walled the inside of the house and animated portraits of various Black owners preened beneath the gazes of newcomers. The ambiance of the rooms were dark and dreary, as if the name and character of the family infested everywhere they lived.

A square-jawed wizard in deeply formal robes and steel grey hair met the group in the floo room of the Chateau.

"Milord Black, it is a pleasure to host your august presence," the major domo uttered, although his tone of voice seemed to belie his flattery. "The mistress has not yet left on Safari and wishes to greet you herself in the south library."

Harry nodded wordlessly, somewhat overwhelmed by the wealth and privilege that surrounded him and which seemed to lurk over every corner of the home. A life like this was beyond his expectations, beyond anything his life could have prepared him for.

"Blimey, Harry." Ron exclaimed. "Do you really own this place?"

"No, Mr. Weasley, 'e does not." A cultured feminine voice answered.

Ron whipped his head around and saw a stunning witch in silken kimono lounging in the doorway. A cascade of dark ringlets hung nearly to her waist and she pursed her bee-stung lips into a seductive smile. Her blue eyes burned with knowledge and power and frankly assessed the young redhead. Her frame possessed the height endemic of all Black women and claimed lean, coiled muscle that was evident in her every moment. She held Ron's gaze for a few seconds, a small smile playing about her perfectly sculpted face.

"Lord Black does not 'own', any Black land ozer zan zat which iz spelled out in 'is will. We 'owever owe fealty to 'arry as 'ead of zee family. 'E 'as zee right to demand our aid and resources for any use zat aids zee larger family." Her smooth French accented voice carried easily to everyone present. "Bonjour, 'arry Potter, Lord of Family Black," she greeted formally. "And Bonjour to you as well, Ronald Weasley." She laughed slightly at Ron's expression of surprise at being recognized. She fingered a strand of her raven hair. "Zer are Weasley's in France as well, and zey are just as…distinctive as your family in England." Ron blushed when he realized she was talking about his hair.

"Hello Dominique." Harry answered back gravely.

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face at the informal greeting but a moment later the pureblooded lady was once again all smiles. "Thank you Thomas, you may leave now." Dominique dismissed casually. "Thomas' family 'as served the Blacks for centuries." She explained to the group. "Ever since one of my ancestors paid for one of 'is to attend Beauxbatons."

Hermione looked disgusted at the way the young Black heiress treated her servant but wisely held her tongue. Or she might have been holding her tongue because Ginny was grinding her foot into the ground as a distraction.

Remus studiously ignored Dominique's eccentricities. "Thank you for allowing up the use of your home, Mademoiselle Black."

She inclined her head and waved it off. "Zink nothing of it. I am, of course, 'appy to serve Lord Black and it is no 'ardship. I will be gone for at least a month, so I will not be inconvenienced by zee extra people."

At Remus' questioning look she amended. "I leave for Africa shortly. I'm motoring to zee nearest muggle airport to leave quite zoon. I've 'eard of a Massai shaman who might know zee secret of possessing multiple Animagus forms. It's all very exciting."

Despite Hermione's disgust towards the woman she could not help but ask, "But aren't Massai shamans forbidden to speak to anyone not a member of their tribe?"

"Yes."

Hermione pressed further. "And doesn't an outsider need to kill a lion with nothing more than a spear if they want to join their tribe?"

The heiress smiled. "Yes, zat does sound about right. Luckily I've already taken care of zat part."

* * *

Dominique Black soon left for the airport on her enchanted Motorcycle and Thomas showed everyone to their rooms. The house was big enough so that everyone could get a private room. Harry told them that he wanted them to freshen up and he would see them in one hour.

While everyone else was busy unpacking in their respective rooms Harry stayed in the library. He unpacked from his extra-dimensional bag the extra four Assassin Blades and their sheaths. He unpacked the books and scrolls that he'd taken from the Black Family Vault and laid them all on the table. The last book he pulled out was the personal journal of Androlphus Black.

The small book contained his collective personal writings dating from the time he was a young wizard to near the very end of his life. He had been an impressive man, Harry came to realize while perusing the book. The Black Family had possessed some wealth and privilege based on their status as purebloods but they were dying off before Androlphus' father died and left the young wizard in charge of his family. The young, untried wizard turned the dying family into a thriving clan of wizards that dominated trade and politics in many parts of the world in which they lived. And he did in with nothing more than sheer force of will. In a feat of irony, the core family of Androlphus was the one that had fared the worst over the centuries while the satellite branches had become quite successful.

Harry vowed that once he was done defeating Voldemort he was going to work in bring the primary Black line back into prominence and make them a name to be respected and loved instead of feared.

Once he was done laying out the weapons, he sat in a deeply cushioned chair and stared at talismans of war he had just laid out. This was it. He had almost all of his friends together. The ones he could trust above all the rest. Now would be the perfect opportunity to begin training. To begin to take the war into their own hands—into his own hands. But in order for him to impress on them the need to train he was going to have to tell them about the prophecy. All them, including Bella and Narcissa, deserved to know who they had had thrown their lot in with.

Harry was terrified they would reject him. That they would finally see they would be better off staying away from him and leave for good. The weight of knowledge settled on his shoulders and idly he wondered if this was what Dumbledore felt when he carried the burden of the prophecy alone. Did he worry about Harry rejecting him? And hadn't Harry done exactly that? Was Harry being unfair to the old wizard?

Harry sighed. He was falling into weakness again. Being old Harry. His friends wouldn't leave him he consoled himself. They would stand by him. He believed it but there was a part of him, a part of him that hadn't had faith in humanity since he was locked in cupboard under the stairs, which whispered of betrayal and abandonment. He forced that voice back into the shadows and waited for the others to come back down. After a while of stewing in the darkness of his own thoughts he was jerked from them by the return of his companions.

Hermione walked in and immediately gravitated towards the books on the table. Luna drifted towards them as well and picked up the copy of _Erotic Magic of the East_. She twisted her neck to examine the pictures within from another angle. Her silvery eyes seemed even wider than normal as they took in the erotic pieces of art. Ron gravitated towards the swords and picked one up and gave an experimental slash. Harry noticed that he held the weapon as if he'd been born to it. Narcissa and Bellatrix also drifted towards a pair of the swords and hefted them. Harry could feel the pulse of the magic through his link as the assassin's swords reacted with the sister wielders. He realized the weapons chose their bearers like wands choosing a wizard.

Remus and Ginny seemed to have no connection with any of the items on the table. Both werewolf and witch looked at the others before shifting their gaze to Harry. "Well we're all here, Harry?" Remus said. "Why did you want to meet with us?"

The others turned towards Harry and he shifted uncomfortably beneath their looks. "It's like this," he began. "You, all of you, have been my friends at great personal risk." Harry grimaced. He sounded too formal, even to himself. "I need to tell all of you what Dumbledore told me the night of the Department of Mysteries."

And that's exactly what Harry did.

He told them of the Prophecy. He told them what he would have to face and somehow destroy the dark lord. That he was the only one who could destroy the Dark Lord which had plagued the Wizarding World for decades. He watched as Hermione began to cry and every last bit of envy on Ron's part died with the knowledge of the responsibility that Harry bore. The Black sisters looked shocked. Particularly, Bellatrix looked poleaxed by the knowledge that her former master had marked the means of his defeat. Narcissa meanwhile got a speculative look on her face and Harry could almost see her Slytherin wheels begin to turn. Ginny looked angry and when Harry searched her eyes he could tell that the young redhead wanted part of the action and wouldn't be taking no for an answer. It was Remus he worried about the most and Harry finally got the courage to look at the old werewolf he saw that the man was heartbroken.

"That's why," Harry said heavily, "I need to start training right away. I can't be the same immature kid I was last year. I have to grow up. I have to learn what I need in order to take my place as the head of the family and kill Voldemort."

Harry saw Ron flinch involuntarily when he spoke the name of the Dark Lord. "You have to stop that Ron," he barked. "It's just a name."

Ron stood up, the sudden move kicking back his chair creating a loud scraping noise to attract the attention of everyone in the room. "You're right mate. I can't be scared of a name. Voldemort," he whispered in a hesitant tone.

"Voldemort." Ron's voice was stronger that time.

"VOLDEMORT!" The redhead screamed one last time. Everyone jumped at the sound but Ron looked pleased with himself. "So what are we going to do?" The redhead asked abruptly.

"That makes perfect sense!" Hermione shouted excitedly.

Harry looked at Hermione; the one person he thought might have a problem with doing their own training program away from supervising adults. He was surprised at how hard her eyes were. The rules obeying, sometimes stick in the mud young witch had a hard edged look about her. She rubbed her stomach slightly over the area where she had been cursed in the Department of Mysteries.

"What does?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Dumbledore letting you into the Order of the Phoenix meeting. I was wondering why he did that. It was because of the prophecy. He didn't want to make the same mistake he made last year." Hermione walked over to Harry and hugged him tightly. "You're not going to do this alone, Harry. I promise."

There were a chorus of assents and murmurs as everyone else confirmed that they weren't going to leave Harry either. The boy who lived felt a surge of affection for the whole group as nearly everyone in the world whom he trusted expressed their trust in him back. For a boy with no experience with love it was a heady feeling. Harry looked around the room.

"So," he began. "Like Ron said, what are we going to do? Dumbledore sent us out here to train but I don't even know where to begin."

Remus sighed. "Your mum is going to kill me when I see her, Harry. But," he added, "I'll teach you all how to apparate and what I know about dueling."

Hermione glance at the rare books on the table with palpable excitement. "I can make us up some schedules to practice what's in the books."

Harry felt a flash of annoyance and condescension emanate from his link to Narcissa.

The now young witch snorted. "I'm not sure if _Hermione _is capable organizing the lessons for the books. Perhaps a witch with more experience should do it…"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean 'I'm not capable' of organizing the lessons."

"I find it difficult to believe that a muggleborn witch could understand the intricacies of magic equally as well as pureblood." Narcissa hissed in a low tone.

Harry watched in amazement as Hermione actually growled. When she stepped forward Harry realized that he had to step in before one of the two library inclined witches got hurt. Nothing pissed off Hermione more than being thought less than what she was.

"Work together." Harry snapped at Narcissa. "Hermione is the top student at Hogwarts. No one could be better to help us get organized." Harry tried something he had never done before. He concentrated on the link and purposefully sent his displeasure and anger at Narcissa. He reckoned that he got the message through when he noticed her pale slightly.

Next he turned towards Hermione. "Claire is one of the best students in Europe. She's nearly a fully trained witch and a descendant of Dumbledore. I'm sure she knows lots and can help you."

Mollified, Narcissa swung the saber lightly in her hand. "I'm sorry Hermione. I shouldn't have snapped at you." Harry could feel through his link that the apology had cost her a lot and she didn't really mean it. Luckily Narcissa was a skilled liar and Hermione didn't seem to notice her insincerity. The witch turned back to Harry. "I also know a thing or two about fencing. I can show you and Ron how to use these Assassin's Blades so you don't swing them like a cook gone mad." Harry nodded appreciatively and Ron looked positively gleeful at the thought of fencing lessons.

And he didn't even know what the sword did yet.

"I took a look at Dominique's potion laboratory." Bellatrix added. "I can whip us up some memory and learning potions."

"Aren't they very bad for you?" Hermione asked serenely. She appeared to have calmed down from her altercation with the pureblooded witch.

"Very." Bellatrix agreed. "But if we stick to a schedule, say five days on, three days off, we could speed our learning by a factor of five for the rest of the month. After that of course we'd have to stay away from the potion for several months in order to allow our bodies and magic to restore themselves. But we could get a lot done in that time."

Harry looked at the group as everyone began talking, contributing a skill or something that they could teach or help out with. Even Narcissa managed to begin a civil conversation with Hermione about something which flew totally over his head. He was struck speechless in awe of his friends.

Remus noticed. "Did you truly think we were going to abandon you, Harry?" The werewolf asked kindly. "You should know us better than that. We're all going to stick with you to the end."

Harry just nodded wordlessly, too overcome to speak. Eventually he mastered himself. He gathered his emotions and focused on the task at hand. When he eventually did begin to speak it was with a voice rich in authority.

"Let's get started."

* * *

Well another part of Redemption. I know there are a lot of people looking forward to Litany of Blood being updated. Never fear, It will be soon. I'm a bit of a perfectionist and I want Litany to be just right when I update it.

I want to thank WretchedMongrel for his insights and advice. It helped a lot to focus a few key converstations. Check out his story Harry Potter and The Return to Youth. Also check out and review the story Black kisses if you haven't already. And if you have, leave a review. Its a great story and an acceptenace of myBlack Kisses challenge. If you want to write and are looking for an idea or you do and you want an idea check out the challenges on my profile and do one.

Well, what are you waiting for! Read, review, and get started writing.


	7. Black Duel

The Redemption of the Black Sisters

Part Seven

By Phoenixgod2000

Cast of New Characters:

Claire Dumbledore—Disguise for Narcissa Black.

Marie Dumbledore—Disguise for Bellatrix Black.

Oswald Onyx Black—United States Senator and head of the America Black Family. Disgustingly open-minded for a pureblood.

Karl Heinrich Black—Grandmaster duelist, retired general, and head of the German Blacks

Monique Black—Unmarried head of the Italian Blacks, catholic school bad girl personality, and rabid racist.

Sefu Black—Head of the Moroccan Blacks. Large dark skinned African man who knows many secrets of jungle magic.

Lionelous Black—Head of the Turkish branch of the Black Family. Poorer than other branches, Muslim, and masters of genie summoning.

Fang Yin—Name means Breath of Flowers. Headmistress of the Academy of Reeds, the most prestigious magic school in China. Head of the Chinese branch of the Black family.

Author's notes: The last chapter confused some people because of the time changes I used. The key was to pay attention to the dates. Everything happened in reverse order. Harry and the girls got to Hogwarts. Several weeks later, around the time of this part, Andreas meets with Voldemort and the Black Circle. The first section of the last chapter, the bit with the vampires doesn't happen for several more weeks. I hope that clears things up for people.

* * *

_The honor of the Blacks lies not in their adherence to the rules, but the quantity of their victories_

_--The journal of Androlphus Black_

_August eighteenth_

_Seventeen days after arrival at Chateau Black_

The two witches worked with a quiet efficiency, each perfectly understanding their role in the delicate alchemical process. While Hermione stirred a transparent red liquid with a long sterling silver rod, Claire carefully added golden powder from a small jar using a shallow obsidian spoon. The gold and red swirled around each other, the colors slowly blending and taking on an amber glow as Hermione continued to stir. The young witch's mind drifted to the recent past as she performed the repetitive action.

She could not believe how much she had changed, how much they had all changed, over the past two weeks at the chateau. The group had pushed themselves to learn as much as they could, not out of academic interest or to gain the praise of their mentors, but out of a more raw and naked need: the need to survive the coming conflict. Working together, Claire and Marie had come up with potions to speed learning and banish fatigue. Neither of the potions could be used in great quantities, but it had been decided that this was going to be their best opportunity to learn some of the more exotic magical arts they had unfettered access to, and the fruits of their labors were evident in all of them, as their magical powers and skill had progressed by leaps and bounds.

Hermione herself had devoured each of the spell books that Harry had brought with him, as well as the personal transfiguration library of Chateau Black. She worked tirelessly to strengthen her mind, body and magical core using the personal enhancement magics and potions she'd discovered in the slim book of immortality magics from the Black Vault. While the label "immortality" was a misnomer (because the spells didn't help a person live forever), the spells and rituals did have the effect of permanently enhancing the body of whoever performed them. Even with the spell books, the ingredients would have been prohibitively expensive had Harry not opened his vault so the group could benefit from the rituals. The rituals complete, Hermione could hardly believe the changes she felt in herself; although she hadn't pushed her new physical abilities to their limits, she estimated that she was several times stronger and tougher than her father, an ex-SAS who religiously maintained his conditioning even as a civilian dentist. She knew that the next time she faced Death Eaters she wouldn't be the easy prey they found the last time. If asked, Hermione would almost say that she was looking forward to the next time she met up with a certain Death Eater name Rookwood.

For that matter, none of the group would be the easy marks they had been before. They had all practiced every bit of magic they could, but each of them had found things they were better at than the others. Ron had taken to fencing and war magic with an ease that startled everyone—including himself—except for Hermione. She had always felt that he possessed the power and skill within himself, he merely needed the proper motivation to bring it out. Ginny, likewise, had become far more formidable, honing her dueling skills to the point that she was second only to Harry at single combat. Luna had learned everything presented to her with the ease only possible of a Ravenclaw. She had also taken it upon herself to master the art of internal alchemy, as well as summoning and binding of magical beings. All of them had learned to apparate with such precision and ease that even Lupin was slightly envious. Claire, Marie, and Lupin, already possessing many of the magical skills the others were learning, had taken it upon themselves to explore some of the more esoteric arts found in the books. All of them were in better shape than they had ever been in, and Remus even showed signs of his hair darkening.

If everyone else had experienced changes, Harry underwent a transformation. Always a powerfully talented wizard, he had been held back mainly by his half-hearted study habits and effort. With real motivation to learn besides the pressure from teachers, his powers had increased by several orders of magnitude. He had driven himself relentlessly, studying and practicing harder and faster than anybody else, and was either the best or a close second at nearly every aspect of magic the group attempted, although Ron was a natural swordsman and Hermione would always be superior at the more theoretical arts

His greatest achievement was in the realm of parseltongue magic. The small book he had found opened up a new world of unique magic that had long been believed to be dark, but was actually just rare in the extreme. Through practice, Harry learned to call his serpent tongue at will, then quickly mastered summoning/binding snake magic, various poison spells, and serpentine transformations. One of his greatest feats was with Hedwig: Harry adapted a spell to bind her as his familiar in order to increase her protection and grant her new powers. Hermione had been amazed to learn that the snowy white owl could now transform into a small pale ivory viper that would easily fit in any of a dozen hiding places on his person.

The relations within the group were also good, and Harry was the glue that held the various personalities together. Hermione and Claire had come to an uneasy truce, thanks to his need for them to combine their intellects. The two best potion makers in the group, they had spent much of their free time trying to adapt a number of potions for use in the war, most notably the Elixir of Life formulae produced with the Philosopher's Stone was adapted to create a powerful healing potion instead of the longevity formula.

At this moment, Hermione and Claire were trying to create a batch of potions to facilitate the Animagus Transformation. Harry insisted that all of them (except for Claire, who had refused) attempt the transformation, because it was too great a potential advantage not to try. He had funded the potions (which were also obscenely expensive to create) from the Black Vault. As the potions brewed (they wouldn't be ready until the end of the month), the group practiced the charms and transfigurations required to unlock an Animagus form.

Hermione finished the stage of the mixture and wiped back a sweat-slicked strand of her hair. She had never before worked on a potion requiring this level of precision. _Not that Claire noticed how hard the potion was _she thought, slightly spiteful despite their newfound camaraderie.

Despite their rocky start, the two had discovered that they shared many things in common and that they worked remarkably well in concert, and the young girl hadn't made any racist remarks since that first night. If anything, Hermione was most annoyed by the fact that the honey colored blond girl seemed completely unflappable.

"This stage is done." Hermione sighed.

"The color looks perfect." Claire agreed appreciatively. She looked at the clock on the wall. "And none too soon. I have to meet Harry for a formal robe fitting in the village. He's been putting it off for ages and it has to be finished before his meeting with the other Black family heads."

"Will he be able to get their help?" Hermione asked in concern.

Narcissa frowned. "I don't know, but it won't be for a lack of trying." The teenage Gryffindor turned around and walked to the door. She paused before exiting. "I like working with you, Hermione. You have very impressive scholarly instincts. If you want, tonight we could meet and go over some composite rune spells, I know you expressed interest in them earlier."

"Really? Thank you! I've wanted to go over some of the rune spells in the library." Hermione gushed excitedly. As quickly as it had come, her excitement left and her eyes narrowed. "Why now, all of a sudden?" She asked suspiciously.

Narcissa shrugged. "Peace offering to show that I truly am sorry for misjudging you."

"You said you were sorry that first night."

The blond witch smirked. "Yes, but this time I mean it."

* * *

Ron Weasley did not notice that Luna's hands felt like satin.

Definitely not.

And he for sure didn't notice the slender arch of her pale, moon-kissed neck.

The pair sat alone on the library floor, cross-legged and grasping each others hands. Luna's large, luminescent eyes were closed as she meditated; Ron desperately tried to follow suit.

But it was hard with all of the things he wasn't noticing.

The Chinese book on internal alchemy sat on the floor near Luna, opened to a diagram showing two figures in identical lotus positions. The idea was to attempt to achieve a state of being where a person could perform magic on their bodies though the humors that lurked in their veins. So far, Luna was the only one having any success with self-experimentation in the art of Internal Alchemy, and she was far from adept. Nobody else had been able to even sink into the required meditative trance.

Even so, Luna's accomplishments had been hit and miss. She had awoken from a long sleep after trying to recreate the effects of a stimulant potion; it had worked --too well-- keeping her jittery and awake for nearly four full days before dropping her into a coma for two more days.

That was why Ron found himself on the hard library floor, his long legs folded uncomfortably, trying desperately not to notice the way that Luna's skirt rode up high on her creamy white thighs while she was in the lotus position. His main task was to ensure that Luna remained okay, and then to attempt more experiments on his own. He acknowledged just how dangerous the art could be, but his analytical mind could not help but notice the potential strategic benefits to being able to duplicate potion effects inside a body at will, without having to resort to complicated and expensive brews.

The benefits to Remus alone were staggering. If he could make a wolfsbane potion within his own body without needing to go to a potion master, he could almost completely eliminate the negative effects of being a werewolf.

Another possible benefit was with the Animagus Potion. The reason a wizard could have only one form was because the potion that unlocked the animal was lethal if taken more than once. Hermione and Claire theorized that a wizard could potentially activate multiple forms if they could metabolize the potion from their own magic instead of more toxic ingredients.

Ron considered this while assiduously not paying attention to rise and fall of Luna's small, but perky chest.

His thoughts turned frantically towards Hermione, the third angle in his own personal triangle of pain and terror. He had tried to get her alone for the past several days, but she was always either training or working with one of Dumbledore's nieces on something complicated. He thought that she might fancy him, but suddenly it seemed that their relationship had changed; the constant sniping (which Ron would never admit he had mainly participated in because he loved the way Hermione looked when she was passionate and flustered looking.) was gone, and lately he had caught her staring at him sadly several times before quickly looking away. He needed to talk with her, to clear the air. It was eating him up inside. As much as he was attracted to Luna, he had liked Hermione far longer. He owed it to her to at least talk, so he could find out if she even wanted to date him before he decided what to do about Luna--but she was driving him insane with her avoidance.

This liking two girls at once thing was bad for the brain, Ron decided grumpily, as he vainly attempted to meditate and not concentrate on the airy waif in front of him.

Slowly, Luna released Ron's hands after a companionable squeeze and opened her eyes. "Did you notice anything, Ronald?" she asked in a breathy voice.

Ron shook his head. "Nope."

* * *

_Quiddich pitch behind Chateau Black_

Harry spun away from the red jet with the grace of a ballet dancer. He flicked his wrist and a gray wave shot from his wand and tried to roll over his opponent.

Bellatrix retaliated with a sharp wordless slash of her wand that split the gray wave in two. An invisible wedge caused the gray wave to roll on either side of her, leaving her unharmed. Spitting a sharp word, magical strength filled Bellatrix's legs and she flipped over Harry, firing a stunner at his back before she landed on the ground on the other side.

The boy duelist dove forward, letting the jet sail harmlessly over his head and aimed between his legs, firing off the golden spark of an _expelliarmus_ at the cinnamon haired witch. He spun around dexterously and absorbed the impact of the ground with his knees, a shield spell already on his lips.

Bellatrix parried the spell with the tip of her wand and retaliated with the same spell at Harry. He likewise batted it aside and stepped forward, shouting "_Legilimens_," at the top of his lungs.

The spell dove like a dagger into Bellatrix's thoughts but was rebuffed by the strength of her mental shielding. Harry stood, veins bulging on his forehead as he tried to pierce her barrier. Bellatrix fought to raise her arm, and pointing her wand, fired a blasting charm at his chest. Harry flew backwards and slammed into the Quiddich pole more than a dozen feet away. He slid to the ground, moaning softly.

When his eyes refocused a moment later Harry saw Bellatrix's patrician face twisted with rage. "Do you enjoy not listening to me, Potter?" she hissed, "Or are you just too stupid to understand me? I told you, you cannot use mind magic in combat. It requires too much concentration and leaves you vulnerable. And it's doubly stupid against me, because you know how strong my shields are."

She watched with a satisfied expression as Harry struggled to his feet, wincing with pain.

"I thought I would be able to get the drop on you," Harry wheezed in response.

"Well, you didn't." Bellatrix let out a breath. "And stay the hell out of my head. I lived with the dark lord doing it for years, I don't need you following suit."

"Voldemort used Legilimency on you?"

Bellatrix smiled bitterly. "Does he strike you as someone who trusts, Potter?"

Harry inclined his head at the point. Bellatrix softened her look slightly. "You have a great deal of talent, Harry," she said in a softer tone, "but you still have a great deal to learn. You have to listen if you want to get good enough to duel the dark lord. The way you are right now… all impulse and instinct, you wouldn't last five seconds against him."

"I did alright against you." He snapped back

"I was two months out of Azkaban. I could hardly hold a wand without shaking, Potter." Bellatrix smiled sinisterly. "I think the result would be a little different now."

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Maybe."

"You need to trust me, Harry." She said. "I can't teach you if you won't trust me."

Bellatrix allowed a trickle of emotion to pass along the link to Harry. He felt worry and fear, although he surprised that the worry and fear wasn't for her, or at least not most of it; it was fear for him. Worry for him.

"How come your shield is so different from Snape's?" Harry asked. "If all Occlumency does is create a wall, wouldn't it make it useless for spying? Anytime you used it, everyone would know."

"There are different kinds of shields, Harry. All I ever needed was a wall shield to keep dementors out of my head. There are others which are much more sophisticated and harder to do. I've never bothered to learn them."

Harry nodded. "Want to go again?" he asked, indicating the pitch.

"No, I'm going to find Ginny and Remus," Bellatrix sighed. "You need to get to the village for your robe fitting. You've put it off long enough."

Harry watched the tall woman—girl, leave. His thoughts spun in his head; she was different than he thought she would be. The Bellatrix he met in the ministry was half crazed and incoherent. She was twisted and evil, a sadist without peer or conscience. But this Bella…

This Bella was vibrant and beautiful. Energetic and funny. Her sense of humor was sharp and pointed. Sometimes he forgot whom he was dealing with and was simply caught up in her charismatic, whirlwind personality. She loved Quiddich and talked sometimes about joining the house team when she got to school (he had no idea if she was serious or not). Her magical power was impressive and had only grown more so. It was easy to forget, sometimes, what she had done in her life, the people she had hurt and killed.

Other times—times he didn't think anyone else noticed—melancholy hovered around her like a cloak. There were moments of mania and madness that scared him—and worried him as well. Flickers of the dangerous woman she was before still remained. The shadow of Azkaban and her forays into the dark arts wasn't something that was left behind casually, or easily. Sometimes the hurt seemed so thick he couldn't understand how no one else noticed. It was the same hurt and sadness he remembered feeling from Sirius.

When she got like that he couldn't help but want to comfort her.

* * *

The village robe shop was a simple affair of stone and dark green shingles. The robe mistress inside was an expert in formal robes. Angelique Black came to her for all of her expensive gowns and formal robes so the matronly woman was an expert in what Blacks needed to wear for formal occasions. The others had all gotten their formal robes from the shop, but Harry had always managed to avoid going.

Until now.

He stood on a measuring stool while the robe matron and her pretty assistant measured him while engaging in arcane talk with Narcissa about colors, styles, and materials that went completely over his head. The now teenage witch was directing the two like a general in the middle of a battle, and Harry was doing his best to ignore the rather invasive procedure so he could talk with the town headman.

"In two days, the six most prominent Black family heads are coming here to dine, Dunkirk. Does everyone know their part?"

The village leader, a stout, solidly built, sandy-haired man nodded agreeably. "All is ready milord Black," he said in lightly accented English. Harry had been pleased to find out that most of the village spoke his tongue to one degree or another thanks to trade. "You were most generous with your gold and we've prepared a grand feast. Several of our maidens have agreed to be serving girls for the dinner."

"Thank you, Dunkirk. You've made me feel welcome here and that means a lot to me." Harry replied politely, pleased with service and loyalty of the villagers. "Before I leave, I will sponsor a feast for the whole village as thanks."

"That is not necessary, milord." The village leader protested.

"I insist," Harry replied. "I plan on making a lot of changes with the way things work, and spending money on the people who've made me feel so welcome is just the beginning."

The headman inclined his head in acquiescence. "We are always at the service of the Black Family." He gave Harry the barest hint of a smile when he saw the boy leader flinch at the probing nature of one of the animated measuring tapes.

Narcissa turned to him. "Make sure your serving girls are beautiful, headman. To do any less would be an insult to these leaders, and we will have a difficult enough time gaining their obedience without insulting them." She instructed imperiously.

Harry glanced hard at Narcissa. "Everybody out."

Harry's voice cracked like a whip, and the villagers gave him quick bows and departed, leaving him alone with Narcissa.

"What have I done now, Harry?" The young witch's voice sounded bored, but there was an undercurrent of anger beneath her placid tone. She and Harry had clashed several times over her treatment of the villagers. She considered herself their better and he did not. Both had also grown increasingly frustrated over their inability to meet and decide on a single coherent strategy. She thought he was too softhearted, and he thought she was unnecessarily ruthless.

"Don't talk to them like that." Harry snapped. "I won't have you insulting my villagers. They're good people and they deserve better from you, and the rest of the Blacks for that matter." he added fiercely.

"You are going to have to learn to do things you don't like if you want to take control over the Black Family." Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "Having your subjects use their feminine wiles isn't a terribly dark thing to do."

"I am not going to treat the other families like enemies." Harry protested.

"They are you enemies," Narcissa shrieked in exasperation, her frustration with the stubborn boy growing nearly uncontrollable. "I understand and appreciate your ethics, Harry." She said, continuing in a calmer tone. "But now is not the time to be tying your hands behind your back. Use every weapon you have."

Harry looked away and frowned. "It's not respectful," he muttered.

Narcissa sighed and drew her wand. "I'll finish the measurements. It's probably best you sent everyone away, anyway. I don't want them overhearing our plans; they could be compromised."

The witch shook her blond mane and mumbled, "Not respectful, he says." In amazement she lifted her wand and began murmuring spells, running the wand along the edges of Harry's body to record measurements.

"Who are the six leaders coming in two days and what are their weaknesses?" Narcissa asked below her breath as she worked.

Harry rolled his eyes. Narcissa had drilled him endlessly on protocol and intelligence of the six most influential Black family leaders. If he could get these six to obey him, he would control the entire family.

"Monique Nigellus. Head of the Italian Blacks. Dark hair, Brown eyes. Very pretty, and not above trying to seduce me in order to gain control over the primary branch of the Blacks. Has gained more political power than she should have from the flat of her back. Very racist and may agree too much with stated goals of Voldemort to want to fight him."

Narcissa nodded, pleased with her student. She ran her wand lightly over his chest, and Harry's skin prickled at the tingle of energy left behind.

"The… ummn… second is Lionelous Black, head of the Turkish Blacks. Will be inclined to support me because his family is considered pariahs among the Blacks. Skilled warriors but not wealthy. All of them are Muslims and very good at conjuring Jinn. Could be valuable allies if they'll share names of power with me so I can pact with the Jinni on my own."

Narcissa moved behind Harry and trailed her wand down his spine, tightening and slightly shrinking the robes. Harry continued:

"The third is Oswald Onyx Black. Senator Oswald Onyx Black, rather. He's an American politician and head of the American branch of the Black Family. The American Blacks are important because that branch is larger than all of the European families combined. He will be predisposed to help me because Voldemort killed one of his daughters when she married an English muggleborn. Death Eaters murdered her." Harry smiled almost fondly at Narcissa, "And how did you put it? Almost indecently open-minded for a pureblood?"

"Good." Narcissa rolled her wand around his neck, tightening and smoothing the collar. He shivered a little, but maintained his concentration.

"The fourth head is Fang Yin. Name means "breath of flowers". Head of the Chinese branch of the family. Headmistress of the Academy of Reeds, one of the most prestigious magical schools in all of China. Won't be inclined to respect my authority because she'll see me as one of her students. On the other hand, both of her sons were killed by dark wizard assassins, so I might be able to appeal to her sense of vengeance."

Narcissa knelt at Harry's feet and began alterations around his hem.

"Fifth will be Sefu Black. Large African Shaman and head of the African Blacks. Has several distinguishing tribal rune scars on both cheeks. Plays at being an ignorant tribal chieftain but in reality is a ferocious warrior and family head. Has held Black property in Africa against all of the continents' problems so we know he is a strong leader. No way to tell which way he's going to go."

The blond witch stood up, staring intently at the Boy-Who-Lived. "And the last one?"

Harry's lips thinned. "The last one is the most dangerous. Karl Heinrich Black. Retired German minister of magic. Retired field general in the allied army against Grindlewald. Current head of the Black family in Germany. Only wizard in the past two hundred years to win seven consecutive victories in the _Sich duellierendes Turnier der Meister_, the oldest dueling tournament in Europe. Wants control over the primary Black Vault and the main branch of the Black family, because his line is the oldest next to Sirius's. Honorable and not dark, but will definitely not be inclined to follow my lead."

Narcissa nodded grimly. "I've been thinking about it, and I cannot think of a way to get him to follow you." She shook her head, "the other leaders, yes, but him? Not a chance. And he is the domino to get the more minor family leaders to fall into line."

Harry smiled slightly. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

"Care to share that plan with me?" Narcissa asked in a biting tone.

"Not really." Harry grinned slightly wider. "It's a secret."

"This isn't a game, _Potter_," she hissed, "you are playing with the life of the Wizarding world. And more importantly still, you are playing with my life. I take that very seriously, even if you don't. If you fail to get the Black Family on your side, you'll be back to following Dumbledore and his Order. And don't forget: the Blacks could go along with Voldemort; they've worked with dark lords before. Is that what you want? Is it?" With a huff, she whirled around to leave but stopped when Harry's hand closed around her arm with a vise-like grip.

"I do take your life seriously." He said quietly.

"What?" She asked angrily.

"I do care about your life." Harry said again. "And I appreciate all your help tutoring me in the Black family politics. And your help training me and Ron, and what you did with brewing the potions we're using. And I'm sorry if I've been sounding obnoxious today." He grinned and plucked at one of his voluminous sleeves. "It's this robe's fault: it itches, and it makes me look like an idiot."

Her anger gone, Narcissa brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "You are entirely too good at this." She muttered beneath her breath.

"Good at what?" Harry asked confusedly. Narcissa was shielding herself from his mind so he had no idea what she was feeling.

"Nothing." She looked up. "And you don't look like an idiot. You look handsome and very lordly."

It was then that Narcissa realized just how close she was to Harry. He was still standing on the dress stand and towered over even her tall form. She could feel his body heat emanate through the robes and she was acutely aware of just how much hard muscle the past few weeks had packed onto his lean frame. She was reminded of Lucius, and the first time she had fallen for him in her sixth year. He was already out of school and head of his family then, his body was strong and lean, just like Harry's, and his eyes hadn't yet become distant and cold. Despite her Slytherin training, she had entertained the foolish belief that her love would open him up and they would lead the Malfoy family to greatness together.

Of course, it hadn't quite worked out that way.

So while it was a surprise to feel her body react to Harry like that, she wasn't without the—sadly—long practice necessary to deal with it. Still…

_Merlin, I hate teenage hormones!

* * *

_

"HERMIONE!"

Luna shouted again, and then walked into the other girl's private room looking for the bushy haired brunette. The answering shriek let her know that she had successfully found the bookish girl.

Hermione stood in front of her dresser, hastily covering her naked chest with a tee shirt, the lower half of her body only covered by a pair of thin cotton panties. "Go away Luna!" She called out while doing her best to shield her unclothed parts from the strange fifth year. When it became clear that Luna wasn't leaving, she asked "What do you need?" in an exasperated tone.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to practice meditation with me." Luna answered. "I know you've wanted to work on it more but you've been busy with the Animagus potion."

Hermione sagged slightly. "Thank you for the offer, Luna, but I'm working on altering my dress robes for the meeting in two days." Gripping her shirt tightly to her chest with one hand she motioned with the other at the formal robe lay out on her bed. She shuffled slightly, embarrassed about being topless around the waif with the strange silver eyes. She had been careful to hide the extent of her injuries and then Luna had to burst in on her like this. It wasn't fair! No one was supposed to see her like this. She could feel Luna judging her, weighing her with her wide piercing stare.

She flinched when Luna stepped forward and pulled the shirt from her chest. Hermione looked down, unwilling to meet Luna's gaze. She knew what would be there: the look of pity, the look of revulsion. The hidden relief that it wasn't her…

She shuddered as Luna brushed her fingers lightly over the scar. "I had no idea they were this bad."

The scars were indeed bad. The thick, cordlike scar was reddish and angry, the edges of it pinching the healthy skin. It zigzagged across her abdomen, cutting a line through her belly button, rising above her stomach to cut diagonally through her left breast. A breast that was no longer capped by a nipple.

"You weren't supposed to. I don't want anyone to know. Ron'll think I'm ugly. And he'll be right." The girl rubbed futilely her at her rapidly welling eyes. "I'm an ugly scarred freak. Ron deserves someone better. Someone pretty."

She looked away. "It's worse than that. It's… its not just the way… the way it looks." Hermione sniffled and stroked her palm across her ruined abdomen. "The spell did something to my insides. I won't ever be able to have children."

If it was possible, Luna's eyes grew even wider and her mouth made a surprised O. "That's why you've been rebuffing Ronald. You're scared he won't like you anymore."

Tears tracked down Hermione's face. She whispered, "You've met his family. He'll want a big one of his own, like he grew up with. And I won't be able to give him one at all."

Luna didn't say anything. She just moved closer to the girl and hugged her. Hermione stiffened, but eventually gave into the other girl's comfort. They stood poised like that for several minutes before Luna finally broke away.

"You do Ronald a disservice, Hermione. He is better than you give him credit for. And he will still think you are beautiful." Luna's eyes were unusually focused, staring intently into Hermione's eyes.

"How do you know?" Hermione asked in a watery voice.

Luna brushed away a tear that trickled across Hermione's cheek.

"Because I still do."

* * *

_The following day_

The group stood outside the entrance to Chateau Black in their finest dress robes, watching the Portkey platform for the arrival of their guests. Behind them was arrayed several village boys and maidens who would serve as body servants for the soon-to-be-arriving guests.

The Portkey platform was tiled in emerald stone and carved with runes placed using arithmantic geometry. It served as the locater base for the portkey Harry owled to each of expected Black family leaders.

The first arrival was a slight Asian woman in a tight silken dress with a stiff collar. Her steel grey hair was bound in elaborate twist and held in place with a pair of jade chopsticks. She moved stiffly, relying on a cane to propel her forward. A soft faced Eunuch dressed in elaborately embroidered robes followed her with a deferential shuffle.

The second arrival was a slender, dark haired man in a muggle suit with a flowing, open robe that wrapped around him like a coat. His hair was coal black aside from wings of frost at his temples, and his face was surprisingly young for a person with grey hair.

The third was a dusky skinned man in robes and a turban. He wore a short beard and a curved blade crossed with his wand dangled from his wide belt.

The fourth was a stunning woman with a vast wave of ebony hair that flowed unbound. She wore a flimsy, almost indecently short black dress that tightened against her ripe body agreeably as it blew in the wind.

She didn't appear to be wearing undergarments.

The fifth was a huge man, an African with polished ebony skin. He bore a staff of bleached wood topped with the skull of an unknown beast. Leopard skin clothed him and the weave of scars crisscrossing his cheeks only added to his fierce mien.

Then the last of the great family leaders arrived. Karl Heinrich Black. His face was chiseled and his jaw strong despite his eighty-odd years. His back was ramrod straight and his shoulders broad. He presented as a man decades younger than he was. Shoulder length iron gray hair blew gently in the wind, but nothing obscured his clear sapphire vision.

The family leaders stepped forward as one and approached Harry. He made a swift motion and several young boys ran forward to take their cloaks.

"Welcome to Chateau Black." Harry said politely. "I am pleased to make your acquaintances."

Karl snorted. "Let us end this farce quickly." He pushed past Harry and entered the huge manor home. The others quickly followed suit, Oswald flashing Harry an apologetic smile as he hurried inside.

"Well, this is starting out just wonderfully." Bellatrix spat sarcastically.

* * *

The dining hall of Chateau Black was large enough for three-dozen people to eat comfortably. It had three enormous chandeliers that could be commanded to light with the utterance of a single magic word. Rare wood paneled the walls, and a single huge hand-carved table stretched almost the entire length of the room.

The children of the village worked as servants for the meal, bringing the family heads their food and drink. Wine from the village was carried in earthenware jugs and used in great quantities. The local cooks had outdone themselves with a rich meal of roasted meats, fresh fruit, and sugar-glazed desserts.

Harry watched as each of them ate, wondering if his plan would work. It was certainly audacious enough, and that alone could potentially carry it through. He could tell that none of the heads knew quite what to make of him, and that could also play out to his advantage.

As the final course was cleared from the table, Karl dotted his mouth with a napkin and took another long drink of the local wine, then met Harry's eyes. "Say your peace, Boy" he ordered once his mouth was empty.

Harry nodded. "Voldemort is back," he began without preamble. "He killed Sirius Black, my godfather and made me the head of the Black Family. All of the Black family," he emphasized. "We are powerful, and have a duty to fight against him. The Aurors of the British Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix cannot do it by themselves. Both of them are weighted down by the rules, regulations, codes that they operate by. Voldemort has none of those, and neither do we. 'The Black family does not fight with honor, it fights to win', Androlphus Black said that and I believe it. I want Voldemort destroyed and I need the family to do it."

"What is this we, Boy?" Karl said. "You are not on the family rolls. Your name doesn't appear on the family tapestry. You don't have our blood flowing in your veins beyond an ancestor five generations ago. You have no standing. You are not a Black."

"That could be remedied if he were to marry one." Monique speculated. The stunning woman eyed Harry predatorily as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Perhaps a marriage contract to a true Black might be in order."

"That is not happening any time soon." Harry shot back quietly. "I am already a Black. Sirius made me one."

"Because a man who spent more than a decade in prison says so?" Karl scoffed. "I think not."

Fang Yin rapped her cane against the wood table, taking the floor. "We are not here to argue his legal status." She interjected quietly tone. "He has it."

Yin shifted her gaze to Harry. "Now, we will see if he can use it. What specifically do you want from us, Mr. Potter?"

"All of you have access to magic and people who would be valuable in the fight against Voldemort." Harry began. He leaned forward. "Karl, I would like to use your family against the Death Eaters who have begun recruiting on the mainland. We can't strike against the humans right now, but we can definitely strike against vampires, ghouls, and other dark creatures he is recruiting." Harry shrugged. "And if a few up and coming Death Eaters die, so be it."

It hurt him to say the last part. He didn't want to be responsible for the death of any human being, but Narcissa, and surprisingly, Hermione, convinced him that strong measures had to be taken if he wanted to end the war as quickly as possible.

Next, he turned to the two most far-flung members of the family. "Sefu, you and Fang Yin control extensive properties beyond the reach of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I would like to use those properties to hide the families of muggleborns that Voldemort is going to target, if he hasn't already started. We will be able to take the offensive easier if we don't have to spare people for guards." Harry searched the faces of the two Blacks but neither was giving anything away.

"Oswald, you have access to American resources and the largest branch of the family. I would like to use the more experienced members of the American family as strike forces on the Continent, and drive Voldemort back into Britain. Keep him contained in a small area, then draw him in tighter and tighter until he has nowhere to go. This should force the British Ministry and the Order to take up the bulk of the fighting, which will free up some of our people and allow us to move against him on other fronts."

Lionelous raised his eyebrow. "Did you come up with this plan on your own?" he asked in a heavily accented voice.

"Of course he didn't." Karl interjected. "This has Dumbledore's fingers all over it."

"Dumbledore doesn't even know about this meeting." Harry answered coolly.

Karl smiled and drank deeply from the glass of wine that a serving girl produced, nodding in pleasure at the taste. "Of course he does, boy. Regardless of how smart you think you are, Dumbledore has been at this a lot longer than you have. It doesn't really matter, in any case. We won't be helping to fight your war."

"That's a shame." Harry answered blandly. "But I accept that."

The family leaders exchanged confused glances, as did Harry's friends.

"But," Harry continued, "I have other policies beyond the war that I am going to institute."

""Like what?" Karl asked suspiciously.

"I am going to pay to send all of our vassals to their respective magic schools." Harry replied casually

Harry had barely finished speaking when the table erupted with loud protests. His brain erupted with equally loud pulses of inarticulate rage from the Black sisters. It seemed that neither was amused by his plan.

"Unacceptable," Karl Black shouted. "They do not need to go. The peasant sorceries they have access to are enough for their purposes. We provide everything else." he added.

"You provide everything but freedom for them and their families." Hermione spat. "You lord your power over them."

"Of course we do," Monique hissed, all traces of her extraordinary beauty gone as she gestured towards Hermione. "We are their betters. We are everyone's betters. We are Blacks.

Hermione opened her mouth to shriek at the racist Italian family head but was silenced by Karl pounding a meaty fist on the table. "Our duty as Blacks is to our vassals." The powerful wizard growled equally to Monique and Hermione. "We protect them from dark forces."

"Let them protect themselves."Hermione argued weakly.

Harry could feel twin pulses of amusement as the Black sisters watched Hermione argue civil rights with the old wizard. At least their anger had subsided. From both of them ran a deeper current of fear for him — neither believed that Harry was going to get the needed support.

Neither knew that everything was going according to Harry's plan. Well, his backup plan at least. There was always the possibility they could have fallen in line with him.

Karl turned towards Harry. "You have no right to do this," he argued. "You cannot educate our vassals."

Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. I can. Any lawyer in the Wizarding world will agree with me. As primary family head, I supersede your wishes."

"Then you won't be the primary family head." Karl announced ominously. "Harry James Potter, I challenge you to a duel of honor."

That stopped the argument. Harry's friends turned towards him with stricken glances while the Black family heads looked askance at their second eldest member.

"Karl," Oswald said cautiously. "Harry is only a boy. You can't seriously mean—"

"I do." The German wizard growled. "I will not let him destroy the family I have protected for eighty years."

"What are your terms?" Harry asked.

"When I win, I will take your position as head of the Black family." Karl answered. "If, by chance, you win, I will grant you my support in this war and everything else. You have my oath as a wizard." He finished gravely.

"I accept your duel." Harry answered solemnly. The boy who lived hid a flinch as his mind erupted into a firestorm of protests and nervous energy. Neither of the sisters thought he had a chance to win.

Although that was probably because he didn't have a chance to win. His opponent was a formidable wizard with decades of experience, and despite his recent training Harry knew that he was seriously overmatched.

Karl nodded. "The Quiddich pitch in fifteen minutes?" He offered.

Harry nodded.

"You may decide the bounds of the duel." The larger wizard offered.

"All weapons allowed, but no dark attacks or spells." Harry said. "The duel will last until one of us concedes."

The old duelist thought for a moment.

"Agreed."

* * *

_Fourteen minutes later_

"Harry, this is madness." Narcissa argued.

"No it's not." He responded in a low tone. "If I win, I get everything I want."

"But if you lose," Narcissa hissed, "You will have lost all your advantages in the war. Wealth. Political privilege. Everything."

Harry looked across the pitch. "Not everything," he answered softly.

Sefu, resplendent in leopard skin robes, made his way across the pitch, his bleached wood staff digging into the soft ground as he walked. He strode straight for Harry. Bellatrix and Narcissa stepped forward, shielding Harry with their bodies, and Hermione palmed her wand while moving to the side. Harry pushed the sisters aside and let the man approach.

"How may I serve you, Lord Sefu?" He asked politely.

The large black man considered him silently before speaking. His sapphire blue eyes, the only remaining sign of the European explorers that settled his land and married the native witches, burned with fierce power. Harry shivered slightly. As much as he had learned, he doubted he wanted to face this man as anything but an ally.

"What you said earlier," he began in a deep rich tone, "about training the peasants. Do you mean it?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. It's time things changed in our world."

He nodded as if Harry had confirmed his own thoughts. "My people," he began, "were treated poorly by the first family travelers that came to Africa. They did not like our magic, our skin, or our Gods. They took our tribes and mated the most magical of wizards and greatest of our leaders while enslaving everyone else. I cannot change the ways of the Black family alone. For you to do this thing…" he shook his head. "You are either a great man or a fool."

He turned around and walked away. After a dozen steps he turned back around. "Whatever else happens today, I will do as you have asked… Lord Black." He vanished and a brightly plumed bird of paradise flew off with a loud caw.

Narcissa shook her head in amazement and looked at Harry. "Whatever your plan is, it might just be crazy enough to work." She muttered.

Hermione didn't say anything. Her mouth set into a thin line as she stared across the pitch to where Karl was preparing himself for the duel.

"What's that he's holding?" She muttered.

Bellatrix answered. "It's a battle rod. It's like a wand, but designed for mass combat in the Wizarding wars hundreds of years ago. It channels more energy than a wand and enhances spells cast through it to make them more battlefield capable. Watch it," she warned Harry. "His stunners and blasts are going to be huge. Don't try and deflect them. They will burst past anything you can throw up. Avoid them."

Harry nodded at the information and broke away from his pack, heading toward the center of the pitch.

Hermione watched him go. "Harry doesn't have a very good chance at all, does he?" she asked the group softly.

"No." Bellatrix answered grimly. "Harry has no chance."

* * *

_The boy is brave _Karl Heinrich Black admitted to himself.

Harry walked smoothly towards the center of the field where he would meet Karl. His steps were calm and his face was blank. The old wizard could read nothing in his gaze and that disturbed him slightly. He had spent his life reading people's bodies and faces, and he was quite skilled at interpreting even the subtlest body language. But Harry was offering nothing. Venturing a tentative mental probe, Karl quickly retreated when he ran into a strong shield, then erected his own formidable defenses.

His foray into Harry's mind fruitless, he considered the intelligence he had been able to gather about the young wizard who wanted to play at being family leader. His agents had discovered that Harry had been raised as a muggle until the age of eleven, and had only just completed his fifth full year of magical training. He recalled that Harry had won the last Tri-wizard tournament that had been held at Hogwarts. Court transcripts indicated that Harry had testified before the Wizengamot that he had been able to cast a corporeal patronus since the age of thirteen. Unconfirmed rumors placed any number of miraculous deeds at his feet, including one that he killed a Basilisk in single combat, but Karl didn't put any stock into that particular rumor.

He was slightly concerned that some of his intelligence was out of date and apparently inaccurate. He had heard that the boy was slight for his age and not athletic looking in the least. The chiseled featured young man standing before him wasn't tall by any stretch of the imagination, but stood a respectable height and had plenty lean muscle piled onto what was otherwise a slender body. His gait was smooth and rolling, the balanced movements of someone who understood his own body and its motions. It was an impressive package the older wizard admitted to himself. Still, Karl wasn't worried. He had decades of experience over the boy. As powerful as he was, as skilled as he might be, Karl was the superior duelist.

He stepped forward and met the boy in the middle of the pitch.

"Do you understand the rules, Potter?" He asked curtly.

The boy nodded. "I do. You?"

He rolled his eyes. "Let's get this over with. I have an appointment with the minister back in Germany later today."

The pair split up and moved twenty paces away from each other.

The Asian schoolmistress hobbled to the center of the field. Both Harry and Karl had agreed to allow her the honor of starting the duel, since she was the eldest family leader present. Yin lifted her cane into the air. A golden spark shot up and broke into a rain of lights.

Beneath the drifting sparks the duel began.

* * *

Karl commenced by shooting a trinity of stunners at Harry. Three red bolts spat from the tip of the battlerod. He fired the same spell a second time. And then a third, and a fourth. A hail of red filled the air. He expected Harry to try and dodge or raise a shield. Both would be a terrible idea and swiftly end the duel before it had truly begun.

Harry did neither of those things.

Instead, he threw himself backwards and shouted a spell. A flock of doves burst from his wand in an explosion of feathers and intercepted the storm of stunners.

Karl was already in motion before Harry had finished casting and fired a sapphire blue ray. If the spell connected, it would freeze Harry where he stood.

The Boy Who Lived dove to the side, avoiding the blue blast and returned a dark green spell toward Karl's feet. The old wizard jumped backwards as a nest of serpents sprung up, then waved his battle rod at them and a sheet of flame shriveled the creatures.

Karl dropped to one knee and struck his battle rod into the ground, shouting _Terrum Eruptus_. A furrow split the ground and raced towards Harry. The boy was already moving when in exploded outward in a rush of dirt and stone. Karl struck the earth two more times until the air that surrounded both of them was clogged with dust.

He spit a spell and leapt straight upward, out of the dust cloud to flank Harry. _I've got you now, Boy _he mentally crowed. He fired a stunning orb directly into the cloud, expecting Harry to be thrown out the other side.

He was quite surprised to be the one thrown backwards when his spell ricocheted off a stone wall Harry had managed to hastily create in the middle of the duct cloud. He rolled to cushion his fall with a grace that belied his age.

_The boy might be better than I anticipated _he admitted softly to himself.

* * *

Harry stumbled out the other side of the cloud, praying the wall would give him enough time to recover.

Things weren't going as well as they could be.

The old man was fast, Harry admitted. He was fast and strong and Harry had no clue how he had pulled off some of those feats of magic. He had thought he would have a pretty decent chance with his increased magical skills, but so far it was taking everything he had just to stay in the game.

Karl had managed to get and stay on the offensive. He was raining spells on Harry so quickly the younger duelist couldn't stay still long enough to get even the most basic attack off. Luckily, his plan didn't require being on the offense. All he had to do was outlast the more experienced duelist.

Harder than he thought.

He had scarcely managed to catch his breath when the loud sound of an apparation crack sent him diving.

_Just a little while longer...

* * *

_

Karl apparated to the side of Harry and sent a cloud of sleep gas towards the boy.

Harry conjured a gust of wind to dispel the gas. On the move he summoned a second flock of geese to disrupt the master duelist.

"You are starting to annoy me, Boy." Karl growled. He flung his battle rod around and ropes shot out to entangle Harry.

The boy wizard snapped his wand downward and the strands split and fell away.

Harry hissed a spell in parseltongue and green energy raced to envelop the other wizard. Karl raised his battle rod and a shield sphere flowed into being, the darker spell harmlessly absorbed into the shield. Safe within the shield, Karl made a slashing motion with his rod and the green energy recollected and flew back toward Harry.

Harry retaliated by apparating the length of the field. He had barely reached the other side when he had to begin dodging the red jets the older wizard was again flinging in his direction.

Karl took a few steps forward. His legs burned and his lungs were like acid. The magic was coming harder now, this fight had gone on entirely too long. Feeling his age, he decided to end the fight then and now.

He stopped firing stunners, and instead used his staff to send concussive blasts of force. Waves of nearly invisible energy rippled through the air and began to tear up the length of the pitch. He had hoped to avoid using the spell because it was frowned upon for formal duels; partly because of its very real lethality and partly because of it's propensity for property damage. No matter, the fight needed to end, now.

So he was going to end it.

* * *

First Harry tried dodging.

The edge of the primary blast knocked him completely to the ground. He struggled to his feet and realized belatedly that the blasts of nearly invisible energy made avoidance nearly impossible.

With his wand he wove a quick shield, trying to take the edge off the blasts.

It didn't work.

The next blast tore the wand out his hand after battering through his shield charm as though it were tissue paper.

The third blast hit the dirt at his feet and sent him flying. He impacted the goalpost of the Quiddich pitch with rib-snapping force.

Darkness began to fill his vision. His breath came slower and each lungful hurt more than the previous. Half conscious, he slid down the pole…

* * *

Narcissa watched, horrified, as Harry disappeared beneath a hailstorm of force cones that filled the air with dust. She watched as her hopes for survival disintegrated before her eyes. Her stomach felt like lead and she looked around to see how the others were taking the fight.

Hermione looked about as horrified as she felt. The pretty brunette was pasty-faced and her eyes were like saucers, taking everything in, terrified and intrigued by the unleashed powers.

Ron was biting his lower lip and one hand was curled into a fist. Narcissa noted in her mind that she had to watch him to ensure he didn't do anything stupid after the duel was over. His other hand was curled around her sister's smaller hand and the pair seemed to draw silent comfort from each other.

Luna, the odd but skilled girl Narcissa hadn't had much contact with seemed strangely unconcerned about Harry. She watched with wide-eyed detachment but without the nail-biting fear the others were exhibiting.

Remus had shrunk in on himself. He was shaking, his lips mouthing the word 'no' over and over. He was the very image of a man about to lose his last remaining family.

Her sister surprised her most of all. Bellatrix had both of her hands coiled into fists and a vein throbbed at the side of her jaw. Narcissa could feel the rage coming off her in waves. For the first time since the transformation, the younger Black sister felt the legendary anger of her sister and prayed she was never on its receiving end.

She turned her gaze back to the duel and watched as the master stalked forward, intent on ending the game. She knew in her soul that Harry had lost.

And then the dust parted.

* * *

Harry's world was dirt now.

Dust choked his lungs and became mud in his mouth. It blocked his ears and dulled the roar of the force blasts as they continued to thud around him, kicking up still more dirt. Earth caked his eyes and worked its way beneath his eye lids, grit infested every crevice of his body. His vision darkened and he spat blood. He tried to stand but the world spun around him dizzily and he collapsed back to his knees.

Despair descended on the boy wizard. He was about to lose, and when he lost he would also lose his best chance to defeat Voldemort and his allies. How many innocent people would die because this man refused to help him? How many people would end up like the Longbottoms? How many would lose their souls to the Dementor's kiss? Despair gave way, and then Harry felt it.

Rage.

Anger that made what he had felt the previous year seem like a gentle rainfall against a tsunami of unleashed passion grew like a seed in the back of his mind. It unfolded like a flower and suffused his limbs with renewed strength. It wasn't coming from him, he realized, but that didn't mean he couldn't use it. He drank deeply from the well of anger and became refreshed with the power it brought. It was cool and strong, like a drink of spring water. He could no longer feel any pain. He was feeling too good for pain.

Harry reached for his last weapon and pushed himself to his feet.

* * *

Karl kept up the blasts until his wrist hurt with the unleashed forces. He stalked forward, chanting until his throat was hoarse. The magic inside him was sputtering and he prayed that the boy had fallen.

Dirt clouded his vision and he conjured a wind to blow the dust away. He expected to see Harry Potter unconscious, or perhaps conscious and hurt.

He didn't expect to see Harry Potter limp out of the dust cloud bruised and bloodied, but definitely alive.

And holding a naked Assassin's Blade in his hand.

The sword blade glowed with magical power, resembling nothing so much as a bar of white light that Harry gripped in his hand.

The battered duelist limped forward with the sword pointed toward Karl's chest. The older wizard backpedaled. His mind spun as he wondered how much the boy knew about the weapon's uses. A lot, by the way he had managed to charge the sword with magical energy. Carefully, Karl annunciated a stunning spell. The red jet flew towards Harry. Not bothering to step aside, Harry just batted it away with casual disregard. Karl fired another concussive blast at Harry. The young wizard held his ground and swung his sword in a wide arc, splitting the blast of energy in two, the halves harmlessly going around him.

"Yield," Harry growled through bloody teeth.

"You are good, boy," Karl replied wearily, "good and strong, but not quite up to my level yet."

He raised his battle rod over his head and uttered three magical syllables. Everyone present recognized the commands to a powerful blasting spell that would penetrate the protection afforded by the sword and knock Harry off his feet in a duel-ending conflagration of energy.

It didn't happen.

Karl uttered the incantation and nothing happened. The spell didn't go off. Harry continued to limp forward with his sword outstretched. Karl padded backwards and attempted the spell a second time. Then he tried a stunning spell. Nothing issued forth from his wand. Harry continued walking forward until he was just a few feet away.

"What have you done to me?" Karl asked.

Harry spat blood and grinned. "What makes you think I did anything to you?

"Because, Potter, I am not an idiot." He replied angrily.

"I don't know about that." Harry answered. "You ate my food and drank my wine. I would say that qualifies as idiotic."

Realization dawned. "You poisoned me."

"Potion actually." Harry replied. "A magic suppressing potion. The more magic you expend, the faster it works."

Fang Yin limped over. "Betrayal!" She shrieked. "You have violated the code of the duel. You forfeit."

"No, I don't," Harry disagreed. "I said we could use any weapons at our disposal. Poison is definitely a weapon. It's not my fault if he didn't guard against it."

Karl stood in shock. He had been bested by the boy. Not perhaps by wand skill, but bested nonetheless. And that's all that mattered.

"It was a legal victory," he answered slowly. "Did not our greatest leader say 'that our honor is found in our victories and not our adherence to the rules'? He won a contest he could not hope to win by force of guile. I am impressed." He smiled at Harry. "I am a prideful man in many ways, _Herr_ Potter, but not one so blinded by pride I cannot appreciate the victory of another won cunningly.

Slowly Karl knelt to the ground and tilted his face upwards towards Harry. "I swear an oath on my magic that I will aid you in whatever you decide is in the greater interest of House Black. My honor, my weapon, and my family are yours… Milord."

Harry rested his blade on the old wizard's broad shoulder. "Thank you, Lord Karl Heinrich Black. I accept your oath of fealty."

After accepting the pledge Harry staggered a few steps away. "Now, if you don't mind," he announced weakly to the crowd, "I am going to take a little nap."

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and Harry collapsed onto the torn up Quiddich pitch in a dead faint.

* * *

I know a lot of people have been waiting for a new part to this story. I want to thank everyone for their patience. It was worth the wait, I hope. Now that work is out for the summer, I plan on writing a lot more, so expect more chapters soon.

Please help inspire me by reading and reviewing. You can't know how much each review means to me. So everyone reading this, please take the time to leave a review.


	8. Chapter 8

Redemption of the Black Sisters

Ch 8

By Phoenixgod2000

Authors note: Here I am again, ready with another part. This was the chapter that would not die. Everytime I went back over it, I added something new, a new wrinkle to the piece. Part of the reason why this is so late is because this was supposed to be chapter 9. chapter eight was supposed to take place entirely in the Pensieve as Harry took a walk through sirius's memories. One of the things that so bothered me about OOTP was the complete deconstruction of Harry's heroic father while leaving his mother on the same pedestal she had always been on. It strikes me as incredibly sexist to show the flaws of one parent while leaving the other flawless. Especially considering how there are almost no good fathers in the HP world. Before OOTP James Potter was an icon., afterwords he was just another jerk. So I wanted a chapter to explore that a little more to create a more balanced view, but it just wasn't working. I rolled a few bits and pieces into this story but left most of it out.

I have a new challenge on my page called the Slave of Sand and Flame. Its a challenge involving Harry Potter and a magical genie. All of the challenge responses to my stories that I know of are linked in my favorites.

Please read and review.

* * *

_For soldiers, war is hell. For civilians, it is something much, much worse._

_--The Journal of Androlphus Black_

_August 30th _

_Three days before the start of Hogwarts' Fall term_

The normally quiet town of _l'endroit d'émeraudes_ was in a furor unlike any seen in several centuries. The serene wine country hamlet had exploded in a fury of activity as House Elves set up tables, fixed food, opened bottles of wine, and otherwise prepared the town square for a great feast—greater than any that had ever occurred there.

The township was in an uproar for a good reason: the Lord Black himself was paying for everything from his own pocket. He and his friends had done much of the food preparation themselves, and they had done it as a thank you to the villagers. The older members of the town were in awe that the new head of the family was such a man. Even more spectacularly, the village was hosting more of the great family leaders than any previous Lord Black had met with in one occasion. Emerald shadows danced along the ground as everyone—noble and commoner alike—worked hard to bring the party together.

* * *

"Ron, move the lights to that house there." Narcissa pointed with her wand at a home on the opposite side of the town square. Ron shrugged and flicked his wand, causing the large globes of pure light to follow him as he began the trek to the opposite end of the square.

Narcissa looked around. This was really not what she had in mind when she agreed to handle the arrangements for the party. She did admit that it was good public relations for Harry to do so, but really! Working on the party himself and pressing the rest of his friends into helping was just so… common!

"No… Ginny! I said anything but Gryffindor colors." she shouted in frustration. The petite redhead gave Narcissa a toothy grin and continued to fire red/gold streamers from her wand.

"You should learn to love those colors," Harry said from behind her. "After all, you'll be joining the house in three days."

Narcissa turned around and smiled broadly, a genuine grin unlike the mysterious half smiles she had perfected as a member of the Slytherin house. "Yes, but red and gold are bad for my complexion. They completely wash me out."

Harry snorted. "I just wanted to tell you," he continued, "that the Animagus potion is going to be ready tomorrow. Are you positive that you won't take a dose with the rest of us?"

The young soon-to-be Gryffindor witch shuddered. "Definitely not."

"What's your problem with becoming an Animagus?" Harry asked quizzically.

"Harry, when you take an Animagus form, you invite a piece of that animal's soul into you. It becomes part of who you are and changes you, sometimes slightly, but sometimes drastically. There's no way to tell beforehand." she said seriously. "And I won't let myself take the potion when I don't know what I'd be turning into. I don't have that much faith."

Harry nodded. "You sister doesn't seem to have that problem." He pointed out.

Narcissa smirked and looked towards the center of the square where Bellatrix, wearing jeans and sleeveless tee-shirt, was hefting one of the large tables along with the village blacksmith. "My sister does all sorts of crazy things, Harry. USE A LEVITATION CHARM YOU STUPID AMAZON!" She shouted in the direction of her sister.

Harry laughed. "I must say that it surprises me that she's willing to work with her hands. I figured she would have thought it beneath her."

"Like I do, you mean?" Narcissa said archly.

"That's not what I meant." Harry added quickly.

"Yes it is." Narcissa shrugged. "It's also true. I think this type of work is beneath me, but Bella was always different. Life of the party at Hogwarts when all I wanted to do was study. She got by her classes through sheer talent while I had to read and study constantly. She loved working with her hands, doing the physical things—at least she did before the dark arts twisted her physicality into sadism and murder," Narcissa whispered sadly. "Now that they don't affect her mind, she's started revert to how she was." She glanced at Harry. "That's why she wants to join the quidditch team: she was never allowed to play for Slytherin. In those days, it wasn't seemly for proper pureblooded girls to play on the house team."

Harry winced, imagining what the lineup of Gryffindor Chasers would do if someone had tried the same thing with them. "I think she'll do well on our team."

"I didn't think you cared all that much about her." Narcissa said with a thin smile.

Harry pondered on his erratic feelings for the former Death Eater; the first time he'd seen the two of them in the Black Vault, and how he'd used the Cruciatus curse against her. He remembered the blind hatred he'd felt, the way he'd wanted to make her pay for the things she had done. It was quite a shock for Harry to realize he didn't harbor those feelings anymore. Harry remembered the advice and unlikely comfort he'd received from her before peering into Sirius' pensieve. Time had transformed her into a real person, with flaws and virtues, not the caricature of a dark queen he'd once focused his hate upon.

Harry met Narcissa's assessing gaze. "Things change." he said flatly.

* * *

_Flashback_

"_You are simply too much fun for words, Potter." Bellatrix muttered sarcastically after spending twenty minutes in silence with the boy leader._

"_I hate sitting here like this," Harry muttered. He was healing more rapidly than normal but his convalescence was still stifling. _

_Bellatrix looked around the room. "Well," she suggested, "you could go through Sirius' pensieve. You've been putting it off for a month."_

_Harry shook his head. "No."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I'm scared of what I'll see."_

_Bellatrix rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Harry, it's your parents. What bad things could you possibly see that could be worse than not knowing how they looked or the sound of their voice?"_

_The boy who lived looked away. "I saw a memory of my father somewhere else. I didn't like it. I always had an image of what my parents were like, and nothing that anybody said—not my Aunt and Uncle and not Snape—could ever change that. What if I look now and I see something even more awful?"_

_Bellatrix looked thoughtfully at Harry, saying nothing._

_Eventually, Harry told her of the botched Occlumency lessons with Snape, and seeing the memory of a teenaged James Potter picking on the pitiable potions professor. Even as he listened to himself, he could scarcely believe that of all the people he could have poured his heart out to, it had ended up being Bellatrix Black. Her sculpted features were blank as she listened to Harry, her expression giving nothing away. When he was done she leaned back and spoke two words slowly._

"_That's it?"_

_Harry blinked. "What do you mean, that's it?" He asked disbelievingly. "Snape was right: my father was an arrogant bully. He's everything I hate about Snape and Malfoy. He was worse. My mother hated him. I can't see that again. I don't want to."_

_The cinnamon-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Potter—Harry, your father was once a school bully. So what?" _

_She stood up and marched towards the door. When she got there she turned and stood by the exit. "I killed dozens of people. Tortured a hundred others." Her voice was so soft, and Harry struggled to hear it. Naked pain filled the low tone, and despite the effects of the rejuvenation potion Harry fancied that he could see the echoes of Azkaban in her face. "Muggles. Wizards. Men. Woman. Children. I killed and tortured them. I live with that because I can't do anything to change it. All I can do is to be better in the here and now. Your father was a bully, Harry, who grew up. He was also a tremendous friend to my cousin when he was disowned and kicked out of the house, and a man that people still admire and remember fondly. He grew up; try to keep some perspective."_

_Harry glanced at the covered stone bowl. "Maybe you're right." he admitted._

_Bellatrix shrugged. "If I am, it would be for the first time in quite a while. And for the record Harry, I knew your father. Wizard society is rather small, and pureblood children socialize from an early age. James and Sirius were the best of friends practically from birth… He was in his third year when I left school, and we didn't exactly keep in touch afterward, but James Potter was a leader, even if he was bit a braggart. But he also protected little Gryffindors from being bullied by older Slytherins and proved to be someone that many people were proud to call their friend. Oh, and don't waste too much pity on Severus; he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of Hogwarts and he gave as good as he ever got."_

_Their eyes met for a brief moment. "Thank you." Harry said, after the silence between them became uncomfortable. _

_Bellatrix nodded once, sharply, and slipped out of the room. _

_End Flashback

* * *

_

Luna Lovegood stood in the bakery supervising Ron, Hermione, and several villagers in the production of hot loaves.

"Remember," she instructed dreamily, "Yeast Nargles are a dangerous problem in bakeries, so always cast the proper charms before removing the loaves from the oven.

Several of the bakers looked at each other in confusion but agreed. Hermione opened her mouth to argue but Ron, who was standing beside her, clapped his hand over her mouth. "Let it go." He hissed. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron but eventually closed her mouth.

Luna surveyed the bakers with wide eyed glances. Flour dotted her nose and bits of dough hung from improbable parts of her body.

Ron didn't think she'd ever looked cuter.

But then he glanced at Hermione's flour-stained tresses and realized that he was as confused as ever.

Hermione worked the dough with the same smooth competence she applied to everything and Ron worked beside her, easily falling into a complementary rhythm. He, like his brothers and sister, had all helped their mother out in the kitchen for years. He had in fact been kneading dough for more than a decade and it was child's play for him to work in concert with Hermione. While his hands worked he allowed himself the chance for his mind to drift while he surreptitiously studied his bushy-haired companion.

Hermione bit her lip as she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her eyes gleamed with intensity. It suddenly struck Ron that she was the opposite of Luna in almost every way. Her skin was a creamy butter tan from her work outside while Luna's was a pale, moon-kissed ivory. Her eyes were small an intense instead of large and dreamy. Her hair was thick, curled and brown instead of thin, straight, and blond. The only thing the two girls had in common was a fierce intellect and the fact that each, in their own way, was very pretty. The workouts they had subjected themselves to over the previous month had left each on the verge of being too thin; Luna and the soft but slender Hermione were much fitter than before—something which only added to their desirability in Ron's eyes.

"Do I have something on my nose?" Hermione asked crossly, breaking Ron's reverie.

"Uhh… no." Ron stuttered.

"Ronald was just thinking that you look quite fetching covered in flour." Luna answered as she approached from behind.

Hermione blushed. "Umm… that's…"

"He's correct, Hermione. You do look very attractive with flour in your hair." Luna grinned and wagged her own flour stained eyebrows at both of them. "I think you should go outside and talk. You've been dancing around each other for far too long this summer."

"Do… do you want to?" Ron offered.

Hermione bit her lip. She looked worriedly at Luna but the pale girl just waved them off. "I would… I'd like that very much Ron." She said hesitantly.

* * *

"Milord Black, this party was an excellent idea." Karl said as he and Harry walked around the town. The other Black leaders would not be arriving for some time, but he'd come early to talk with the young family head. "I haven't seen the village this happy in many a year."

"They deserve it. This village treated me quite kindly while I was here." Harry looked around. "I believe I'm going to miss this place."

"So the rumors about your previous lifestyle are true?" the old German wizard asked.

"Depends on which ones you're talking about." Harry replied. "It wasn't sweetness and light, in any case."

Karl nodded but probed no further. Instead, he changed the subject. "We have begun implementing your plan. Blacks from a number of branches have started to seek out enclaves of vampires and other dark creatures in Voldemort's service and destroy them. We have to do so quietly—because we are working quite outside the law—but we have nonetheless struck several blows against his foreign armies."

Harry nodded. "And the parents?"

"Sefu and Fang Yin have made their lands available and we have several port keys set up to help move relatives away. We've primarily seen grandparents and young siblings—parents won't leave their jobs for an indefinite period of time lightly—but we're slowly enchanting a number of port keys for emergency transport should they fall under attack. It shouldn't take much longer for the rest of them to be so protected."

Harry nodded. "Anything else?"

The pair circled around the far edge of the town and turned back toward the center. Karl sucked in a deep lungful of the pristine air and sighed. "I love our lands. So much better than polluted muggle areas." Karl focused back on Harry. "There have been a number of very gruesome murders around the continent. Muggle authorities don't know yet, but they're all connected. Have you ever heard of a group called the Black Circle of Judas?"

Harry nodded but he didn't elaborate further. The geas prevented him from revealing what he learned in Order meetings.

"It's an old group—probably the oldest of the dark brotherhoods. They truck with demons to gather knowledge in all manner of things. They are probably the finest demonic binders in the entire world, and it looks as though they've reached some kind of arrangement with Voldemort. Although what common goal Death Eaters and the Black Circle possess is beyond me."

Harry nodded. He was already aware of that development couldn't share it that with Karl, so he changed the subject. "What do you know about demons, and about fighting them?"

"There are two major types of underworld beings." Karl began. "The first are devils, fallen angels that date back to before the beginning of time. There are approximately five wizards in history who have ever managed to do more than banish one of them. The only one of those luminaries still alive is Albus Dumbledore." The elder wizard said. "I believe the two of you are acquainted." he added in an amused tone. "Fortunately, devils are beyond rare."

"Demons are far more common than devils. The ceremony to conjure a demon creates a gateway to this world, which the demon can pass through. The gateway itself is constructed by means of particular ritual sacrifices which then allow the conjured demon to use the human flesh to construct a body for themselves—without it, demons cannot affect physical changes in the world. The murders are the Black Circle directing their power to conjuring of demons of various types. Every murder they commit is one more foot soldier for their army." Karl explained grimly. "Once the demon is here, though, it can no longer be tracked without the use of specific charms requiring massive power. The Black Circle hasn't had the strength to hide an army in centuries—only rituals by Voldemort himself could possibly conceal the number they've conjured."

"What should we do?" Harry asked.

"Learn how to exorcise demons." Karl answered with a thin smile. "Because this war is going to be filled with them."

By this time they'd paused in the central square of the town. Harry watched as Monique Black sashayed up to him in a dress that would be more appropriate for clubbing in Ibiza. The young head of the Italian Blacks had a hungry expression on her face.

"And this is where I take my leave from you, Milord." Karl said, his deep bow covering his amused smile. "This is a battle you must meet on your own."

Harry could only gulp.

* * *

Hermione walked beside Ron as they wandered off into the green hills surrounding the small town. She smiled slightly as she watched him mumbling to himself, mentally preparing for his talk with her.

"Bill said… confidence… remember… truthful…" Ron muttered. He hadn't even looked at Hermione yet, but his face was so pale each freckle looked like a spot of blood against his skin.

"Are you… um… going to say anything, Ron?" Hermione asked.

The long nosed redhead looked up and blanched, if it was possible, becoming even more pallid. "You know… I thought you looked really pretty at the Yule ball two years ago." He blurted out.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She giggled. It was just such a perfectly… Ron… thing to say that it reached past her barriers and put a smile on her face. Ron could always do that for her, no matter what else was going on.

He made her smile.

"Thank you." She answered back. "You… um… you looked nice too."

Ron snorted. She followed suit a second later. Of course Ron hadn't looked nice that night. He'd been wearing lace maroon robes.

"You're a really bad liar, you know that?" He retorted.

And that was it. The ice was broken. They were back to being Ron and Hermione.

Ron stopped and faced Hermione. She turned to match him and the pair stood in the road. Hermione felt something in her chest tighten. This, whatever it was, had been a long time coming between them.

"I fancy you." He began earnestly. "I think the first time I really realized was when you went out with Krum. I like everything about you from your hair to your bossiness to your insane desire to free every house elf on the planet. I like it all and I want to be part of it. Be a part of you. So what do you say? Go out with me?"

Hermione watched the earnest flow of words coming out of Ron's mouth and marveled. It was plain that he had rehearsed that speech more than once.

"I do like you," she said softly. Ron smiled broadly and stepped forward to kiss her but she pushed him away. "This," she continued in a pained voice, "is why I can't be with you. I like you too much to let you stay with me."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked in a tight tone.

"Ron that spell in the ministry," she whispered, "it hurt me, worse than you know."

"I know about the scar—"

Hermione stepped back. "No, you don't!" she shouted. "Rookwood mutilated me. The fire sliced through my stomach, and my… my breasts. I'm deformed." She sobbed.

Ron shook his head. "I still… you're you, 'Mione. A scar can't change that."

Hermione looked up at him with tearstained eyes. "It's worse than that. The fire did something to my insides. My uterus is so damaged I can't ever have kids."

"What about Madam Pomfrey, or phoenix tears?" he asked, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice.

"They can't help me. Wizards can speed healing faster than Muggles, but they can't work miracles." She looked at him with brown fire in her gaze. "Do you think, do you really believe, that you could ever be with somebody that couldn't give you a family?"

Ron opened his mouth and then closed it. His brain wasn't working correctly, he couldn't think. He looked stricken and his eyes shone strangely, but he didn't say anything.

"I didn't think so." Hermione choked out in a tearstained voice. "Go be with Luna, Ron. You care for her and she cares for you. She'll be able to give you something I can't." Hermione turned around and walked off stiffly. Ron let her go.

There was nothing left to say.

* * *

Monique Black stalked forward to stand close to Harry. He felt the press of her body heat against his skin, and her eyes smoldered with barely suppressed Latin passion.

"Hello Harry. I came earlier." She whispered seductively. "I was hoping I could catch you… alone." She glanced off to the side. "Did you and Karl have a good talk?"

Harry stepped back, giving the two of them some space. "Yes. He's done everything I've asked for so far. Have you?"

He immediately recognized his mistake when she purred. "Yes. I have been your loyal servant. As I always will be."

"That's… uhh… good to hear." Harry stuttered. Despite the over the top and clumsy nature of the seduction, her sheer physical beauty caused Harry to have difficulty breathing.

"I was thinking," she drew out slowly, as she ran her finger down his chest. "I have heard rumors. There are some Black families, not me of course," she hastened to add, "that find being ruled by a Potter to be… untenable." Her large dark eyes searched out Harry's emerald orbs. Her pink tongue flicked out over ruby red lips. "I believe if you were to take a Black as a… mate, you would find yourself in a better position."

Harry blinked. Her heady scent filled his nose and he found it difficult to think. Her body was pressed against him and he could feel his traitorous body begin to respond to her.

"I… uhhh… are you offering yourself?" he asked.

Monique took a step back and flipped her hair erotically. "I would be a logical choice. I am young, unmarried, and head of one of the largest branches of the Family. Who could stand against us if we were united?"

"I think I can handle any rogue members of the family, Monique." Harry shot back with a smile. He drew on his Occlumency skills to reign his body back under control.

Monique stood on her toes and breathed slightly into Harry's ear. "But we could have so much… fun... together."

"Harry only has time for fun with me." Bellatrix answered. She walked up behind Harry and drew him away from the seductive Black head. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him against her body with a playful squeeze of his buttocks. "Play along," she murmured into his ear. In a louder voice said told Monique, "Harry and I are in love. Aren't we snookems?"

Without giving Harry a chance to respond, Bellatrix cocked her head and kissed him. Hard.

Harry stood paralyzed for a moment. This was literally the last thing he had ever expected. He was kissing Bellatrix Lestrange. _Black _he mentally corrected.

And there was tongue.

_More fun than Cho_ he admitted to himself. He gave himself over to the kiss, letting his senses simply absorb the moment. His nose took in her strong feminine odor, sweet and tangy all at once, his ears heard the rapid beat of her heart as she deepened the kiss, and his hands roamed her body, exploring the hard, Amazonian physique that was somehow both soft and strong at the same time.

When she broke away Harry felt a brief sense of loss at the breaking of contact. He looked her in the eye. There was a flash of something… possibly surprise or lust… that abruptly vanished, and she slid her mask back onto her face. With greater reluctance than he thought possible, Harry turned around to face Monique.

All traces of seduction had fallen away from Italian beauty. Her expression was hard and her arms were folded across her chest.

"I was unaware that you had already chosen a mate." She said tightly.

"Harry and I have been together for quite some time now." Bellatrix said brightly. "Since before he became the Black head."

"Are you a pureblood?" Monique asked with a twisted grimace.

The smile flickered off Bellatrix face. "My blood is as pure as yours, you top heavy slut." She hissed.

Monique stepped forward and for a second, Harry thought the young woman might actually attack the former death eater. But all she did was speak. "Take care, little girl," she hissed, "That you do not make enemies you cannot afford." She stepped back and bowed gracefully towards Harry. "An honor as always Lord Black."

The pair watched her walk away towards the manor house. Harry turned to the woman who saved him.

"Thanks."

Bellatrix grinned, her eyes twinkled, and for a second Harry forgot that she was a killer. "I smelled the love potion she used as perfume. It didn't take much brainpower to figure out what she planning, so I decided to come rescue you."

"And get a kiss while you were at it?" Harry asked dryly.

"Girl's got to get paid, doesn't she?"

* * *

_Several hours later_

The sun lay low along the horizon, casting long shadows across the hidden town of pureblood peasants and setting fire to the sky. The beautiful sunset was a perfect backdrop for the party. The air was crisp and still warm despite the setting sun thanks to wards which kept the town at a perfect temperature.

Two dozen long tables filled the large central square, offset from the huge polished oak dancing platform which had served the village for generations as the primary celebratory area. Each table groaned with warm bread, fresh fruit, wine and juices from a variety of sources sat next to ice sculptures which erupted with flavored potions for the children. Meats from dozens of animals served as the centerpiece of each table. The villagers stared in awe at the spread of food their Lord had provided for them.

Harry, his friends, Dominique, and the six Lords Black sat at the central table with the others arranged in front of them. He smiled at the villager's awe; this party was the least he could have done for them after the aid and comfort they had provided him this past month. When everyone was seated he stood up and raised his glass. He could feel Narcissa's gaze hot on his back. He had worked with her long and hard to get the sentiment that he wanted to express just right.

"My friends," Harry called out, a goblet of ruby wine in hand, "This past month you have made me more welcome than I have felt almost anywhere else at any time in my life. You did not know me, but you welcomed me with open arms. You invited me into your lives and made me a part of your families. I cannot express what that means to me, and this feast is a feeble attempt at conveying this to you."

Dunkirk, headman of the village stood up. "'Twas nothing Milord. You've been a right kind and generous Lord and we ain't got any complaints. We are loyal to the house of Black and we always will be." Although his words were formal, the smile he gave Harry showed him that the village elder meant every word.

"I know that you are loyal." Harry replied. "I know that all Black vassals are loyal and strong." He turned to face Karl Black. "I trust all of you. I respect all of you. You are the strength of the Black family, not wealth or influence. I intend to bring the Black family back to prominence. To that end, I am going to fund the education of every child of a Black vassal to go to the magical school closest to them."

A murmur went through the crowd. The villagers looked confusedly towards each other and their lord. One woman finally spoke up.

"Does that mean my Marguerite will go to Beauxbatons?" she asked with a strange light in her eyes.

Harry smiled. "That is exactly what it means." He looked around. "For too long the Wizarding Nobility has allowed their resources to go half-trained. No longer will I allow the Blacks to be counted among the wasteful. You are our most precious commodity and I will no longer allow it to lay FALLOW!"

A huge cry went up from the crowd on the last shouted word.

* * *

Music waffled on the night air as the village musicians played their instruments for the dancers on the great square. Narcissa Black wove her way across the dance floor in a vain attempt to find Harry. Everywhere she looked she saw grinning couples and playful children. The news had lit a fire beneath the small emerald town.

"Claire!"

Narcissa spun around and saw Harry whirling a doe-eyed twelve year old girl around the dance floor. The girl laughed as Harry spun her around, clearly besotted with her dance partner. For his part Harry looked every inch the young lord, while at the same time radiating an accessibility that Lucius—or herself, for that matter—had never achieved. Every villager around him watched the young nobleman in amazement, clearly as besotted by him as the young girl.

"Might I cut in?" she asked with a bow.

Harry winked at the girl. "Go ask Pierre for a dance, Marie, and don't take no for an answer." Marie put her hand to her lips to cover her smile before disappearing into the crowd.

The musicians switched to a slower song and Harry held out his hands to Narcissa. After a second's hesitation she joined him, their hands entwining around each other as their bodies pressed together for the dance. Five minutes into the dance, Narcissa had to remark on Harry's skills.

"You've been holding out on me, Harry." She chided. "You told me weren't a good dancer, but you haven't stepped on my feet even once." She finished with a smile.

Harry laughed. "Ginny's been helping me." He admitted. "Told me that dancing was just like dueling and if I could do one well, there was no reason why I shouldn't be able to do the other as well."

"She has a point."

They lapsed into silence and let themselves flow with the music. Narcissa closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift. She remembered the balls, parties, weddings and other functions she had attended over the decades and couldn't ever remember having had this much fun. There was simplicity here, a lack of artifice that she found refreshing. Of course, she loved the dance of words and politics that informed the heights of power she had aspired to, but it was an exhausting way to live. The constant vigilance required when fighting your way to the top and staying there was a wearying lifestyle. And one, which she could admit to herself only within the silence of her own mind, was one that that ultimately proved hollow and unsatisfying in its pointless preening.

"May I ask you something?"

She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Harry's green orbs. "What?" she asked a little snappishly.

Harry blinked. "I was… just…. wondering why your sister was so affected by the dark arts when you know them too, but didn't end up like her."

Narcissa and Harry continued dancing while she pondered on her answer. She grinned briefly while considering him with her deep blue eyes copied from Dumbledore's niece. "You don't ask easy questions, do you, Harry?"

"If you don't want to tell me—"

"No, it's fine." Narcissa spun Harry around, thinking that he wouldn't be able to match the move but he easily incorporated it into his dancing. He tugged on her arm and jerked her back into his firm grip. She let out a rich laugh. "You are good." She murmured while running her fingers along his arm in absent minded seduction. She leaned in close to Harry in order to speak into his ear.

"My sister was always a risk taker. I love magic, I love learning new magic," she breathed softly, "but my sister was something else. So much natural talent that her regular classes were a joke, so she decided that the dark arts were just the challenge she was looking for. I was a little more… conservative. I can cast the Unforgivable but I don't. They scare me." She admitted softly. "Unusual magic is one thing. Unforgivable magic is something else."

"So then why were you unhappy enough to go along with Sirius?" Harry came back. The boy who lived hugged her more tightly in order to insure that no one heard them. Her flesh pimpled slightly beneath her robe as she shivered slightly. He held her closer to insure that she didn't grow cold.

"My husband is a disappointment. He's not the man I believed him to be. My son is an idiot; totally useless as a person and I found what remained of my social status dwindling away because of my husband's antics. Everything I worked for, the influence I accrued, was all for naught. I wasted so much of my life on a race that led to nothing. Sirius offered me a way out."

Narcissa pulled back slightly to gaze at Harry. Their faces were close enough that she could see the light globes reflecting in his astoundingly beautiful green gaze. Unconsciously she licked her lips and moved her face towards his. He dropped his mouth downwards…

…a series of screams rent the night air.

* * *

Luna spun around, laughing raucously as she tap danced in wooden clogs that she had been transfigured from her shoes. She slapped her feet against the floor in a staccato rhythm that left the children trying to follow suit, scrambling to match her delirious pace.

Ron stood off to the side, grinning at the children following Luna's antics. The kids were on a smaller wooden platform specially erected for them so that they could enjoy dancing without getting in the way of their parent's good time. He tapped his foot in the same sharp beat as Luna's dance.

He noticed that she was really good with the children. Her reassuring smile had even the clumsiest children laughing. Of course, watching Luna with the village kids sent his mind spiraling back to his talk with Hermione.

_Scarred._

_Sterile._

Even hours later, he felt his fists clench involuntarily as he thought about the death eater that had scarred his Hermione with purple fire. Rage bubbled inside him. Rage that must have been evident to the people around him, based on the slightly fearful looks some of the kids were shooting him. He wanted to hurt that one, hurt all them. Mutilating someone because of their blood, because they weren't born from a Wizarding family—the whole idea disgusted him. While his mum hadn't always great to him, she had taught him the difference between right and wrong and how little someone's blood really meant in the scheme of things.

A lesson he intended to convey to the Death Eaters… very slowly.

"Ronald, stop sulking. Join me." Luna spun out of the circle of laughing children and grabbed him, dexterously spinning back into the circle. Before he realized it, his shoes had been transfigured to clogs and he was dancing with a shiny faced Luna on one end and a gap-toothed boy on the other. Soon enough, he was wheezing with the effort of the dance and his brooding thoughts about Hermione and Death Eaters had disappeared. His focus was consumed by the motion occurring around him as everything but Luna's face dissolved into a blur.

Sometime later he stumbled out of the children's circle, Luna at his side. He shot her a quick grin and she matched him with a smile of her own.

"Do you feel better, Ronald?" Luna asked softly.

"Much." he admitted.

"Hermione will heal." Luna said confidently. "I'm sure of it."

"How do you know?" Ron asked angrily. He started to walk away; the old feelings coming back and starting overwhelm him. As much as he cared for Luna, he didn't feel like talking with her about this.

"Don't go Ronald." Her soft voice drew him back. He paused.

"I don't want to talk about Hermione." Ron answered back just as quietly.

"Alright." was her matter of fact reply.

Now that they had established Ron didn't have to talk about Hermione, the urge to actually talk about her increased. The tall redhead sat down in a nearby chair. "Do you like me?" He asked suddenly. As soon as the words left his mouth he blushed terribly and regretted speaking. At least he did until Luna answered his question.

"Very much so." Luna scooted closer towards Ron and her scent invaded his nose, filling him with warmth and desire. His hands twitched with the sudden urge to run his fingers through her hair and kiss the back of her neck. "I have fancied you for a very long time, Ronald."

"Why," he whispered in a torn voice. "I've never been nice to you—not till this summer." He finished lamely.

Luna traced one of the ridged scars that decorated his temples and smiled serenely. "You are a good man, Ronald Weasley, no matter how much you try to hide it. Hermione sees it as well."

"Fat lot of good that does me." Ron complained bitterly. "She doesn't even want to look at me. She thinks I'm disgusted by her."

"Are you?" Luna asked.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance. Screams tore through the air and the party dissolved into chaos.

* * *

"You are one of zee most beautiful women I have ever seen." The young villager told Ginny earnestly. "Your hair is like flame and your eyes flash with passion." he declared.

Ginny smiled in response. She and the sixteen year old son of the village cask maker were in shadowy recess, well away from the main body of the villagers. He was quite handsome and she had not resisted when he escorted her off the dance floor to a place where they might find some privacy.

Teenage boys weren't the only ones to get an itch.

"You're very handsome, too," she said winsomely. Small satin hands traced his muscled arms and desire clenched her stomach. She knew what the girls in her year said about her behind her back, the whispers of whore, and worse.

Every one of them was true.

Despite the confident front that she wore for her brother and his friends, she had no friends at Hogwarts other than Hermione and Luna. During her first formative year at school, she had been too enthralled by Tom Riddle to make the friends and acquaintances everyone else had. And the rumors of her involvement in the Chamber fiasco persisted, even if they had faded to whispers over the ensuing years.

It didn't help that she had developed a reputation with the boys at school. A reputation that she deserved, but one that did nothing to endear her to the rest of the girls. It had been difficult for Ginny to stay silent when her mother had given her "the talk" years before, patiently explaining to Ginny that her greatest affections were a treasure; a gift to be reserved and bestowed only to a worthy suitor when the time was right. Nobody understood what Riddle had done to her, what he had taken from her. She was empty inside, and the boys she used, they were the only way she knew of to take it back, to make the power her own again. And teenaged boys were ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Of course, Ginny took great pains to insure that none of her brothers—Ron in particular—ever caught even the hint of a whisper of what she did with her toys. Just like he wasn't going to hear about what she intended to do with the blacksmiths son.

Ginny smiled seductively and a lowered head transformed her hair into a veil that aroused the youth's ardor. "What are you waiting for," she breathed softly. "Ravage me."

They came together and their lips met in a hot embrace that left the girl moaning into his mouth. He lifted her with strong hands and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Holding her against the wall, their hands tweaked, groped, and rubbed each other with the clumsy lust of the youth.

Ginny pulled her head back for a minute. "Take me to your house," she whispered. "Everyone is going to be occupied for hours." She kissed his neck lightly, her mane of coppery hair tickling his nose. "We'll have all the time in the world," she crooned, "But you have to let me down," she finished with a smile.

The youth, unable to believe his luck, just nodded numbly. He gently set her down and moved aside so that she could lead him away.

The two of them had barely starting to move into a shadowy shortcut when a tall, emaciated figure stepped from darkness a few paces away. Red eyes gleamed in the darkness and pale strong hands had snapped the boy's throat before Ginny could draw her wand.

* * *

Hermione Granger watched the party from a nearby alley. Her small brown eyes took in the merriment while her face maintained an expressionless mask. She watched as Harry and Dumbledore's niece came together for a dance. Even from a distance she felt the spark between them, and she didn't think it would take much time before they started dating—the crackle between them was too great. She saw Ginny lead a strapping young man by the hand away from the crowd. The tiniest flinch broke through her façade. She knew what Ginny was planning, and her heart ached for the young girl.

The ache grew more pronounced when she saw Ron and Luna talking in very close quarters. _Good _she thought.

A piece of her even believed it.

Luna and Ron deserved to be together. She knew that Luna liked the tall redhead—she had for a while—and Ron had finally begun to reciprocate the feelings. A bitter taste filled her mouth and she turned her eyes away. She wanted to be there. She wanted to be the one who held Ron's hand, kissed him, and maybe someday had his child. She wanted to let herself get swept away with the infatuation of young love and to dream silly, romantic dreams about the future that might be.

But it wasn't going to be that way, and it never would.

Poison filled her veins and bubbled upwards. Her guts twisted and she padded down the alley, a roundabout way towards the manor where she could pore over more books, while the others enjoyed a party that would lead to things which weren't an option for her anymore.

Unnoticed, a shadow separated from the wall behind her and began to follow in her wake…

* * *

Dominique raised a glass of the sweet local white and took a sip. Unlike the other Black leaders who had heard the Lord Black's proposal, she had not been prepared for his… generosity. Still, her breeding was impeccable and she managed to keep her face appropriately expressionless.

Inside though, she seethed. How dare he come to her home, the land her family had ruled for centuries and make bargains with her serfs? How dare he spend the collected wealth of the Black family to send these pathetic peasants to schools filled with their betters?

She was caught off-guard by the screams that came from the edge of the village. But unlike the weak peasants who populated the town, she was experienced in all matter of battle situations. She had killed lions with her own hands, climbed the highest mountains, and wandered the dark corners of the globe. Unlike many witches and wizards, she never found muggle things or physical labor to be beneath her and she was well practiced in both muggle and magical defense mechanisms. Smoothly, she rose to her feet and drew her wand.

"Thomas. We have to protect these people. It's our duty." she ordered. Dominique didn't look backwards. She didn't need to. His family had been faithful vassals for centuries.

So she never saw his drawn wand or the emerald flash of killing light that ended her travels forever.

* * *

The party dissolved in to a panicked press of people. Screams filled Harry's ears as he and Narcissa were knocked to the ground. Villagers kicked and pushed their prone forms as they fled the scene in a rush.

Harry reached for his wand but a stray foot knocked it from his hand. Watching it roll away, his other hand instinctively went to the dagger sized sheath on his hip. He drew his Assassins Blade and rolled to his feet. All around him people ran by. At his periphery he knew that Narcissa had drawn her blade and had already infused it with enough magic to turn it into a bar of crackling white power. The screams of his people tortured his ears, but despite the chaos he had eyes for only one thing.

Demons.

Scaled men, like lizards or serpents with manlike shapes, poured from the shadows—more than Harry could count in a glance—and they headed straight towards the largest grouping of villagers.

Behind the serpent men stood a pair of beings that were far more dangerous. The first was an obsidian giant. The genderless creature had no hair or other distinguishing characteristics other than cobalt eyes and lips. Puffs of blue smoke issued from his mouth with every breath and halos of bluish light surrounded his fists.

The second being looked less dangerous on first glance. The creature was no larger than a large man, and appeared to be covered from head to toe in knights tournament armor of the deepest black, with gleamed with a red sheen. A huge winged helmet covered his head, obscuring all but his eyes—hot red coals that peered from visor. He rode a mighty stallion with flames for hair and tail. Its iron shod hooves did not stride on the ground, but instead hovered shoulder length in the air on a carpet of sulfurous smoke.

"Oh hell." Harry muttered.

A moment and a pop later he felt Narcissa apparated away—to where, Harry couldn't say. Trusting that the older woman could handle herself and knew the best way to act Harry paid her no thought.

Instead, he ran toward the mass of scaled demon men and the dark knight. He had to do something to buy the villagers time to flee. None of them could protect themselves with the magic and training they possessed, demons were far beyond them. Harry just prayed that the same demons weren't beyond him.

"_Terrum Sapiere!"_ he shouted at the top of his lungs. A stone wall twenty feet long broke free from the soil and blocked the oncoming creatures.

The barrier lasted mere moments. Blasts of raw power tore his construct apart before he could take a second action.

* * *

"Get the kids out of here!" Ron ordered.

"Ron," Luna said worriedly, "those are demons. Real demons. You can't possibly fight all of them."

"I know." Ron answered back. "But I can hold them off. Make sure that you get the kids somewhere safe. Protect them." He smiled as calmly as he could manage. "I'll be fine Luna. I promise."

"You'd better." Luna said in a firm tone unlike her normally dreamy voice. She gave him a peck on the cheek and cast a swift calming charm that entranced the crowd of youngsters before leading the eerily silent group away.

Ron turned and faced the serpent men that loped silently towards the retreating children and drew his blade confidently. He would hold them off.

No matter what.

Red Weasley family magic sparked along the length blade and he stalked forward. Even, deep breaths filled Ron's lungs with strength and he centered himself as well as he could, under the circumstances. He was by far the weakest of the group when it came to mental magics but he found that in the heat of the moment he was finally able to find his center. Everything around him slowed down as his focus narrowed to the demons before him.

Of all the things he had learned over the summer, fencing was the thing he had shown the most affinity for. He took to the combination of magic and swordsmanship like a duck to water. Although he had neither Harry's reflexes nor Narcissa's perfect form, he was strong and fast and possessed an instinctive knack for this style of fighting.

A pair of snake men with long tails instead of legs was the first to rush him. Ron twisted his blade to deflect their first clawing attacks. Following his parry, the tall redhead lashed out with his opposite hand and crushed the flat face of the lead demon with his vastly improved strength. The demon flew backwards, bowling into several of his companions. With a flick of his wrist he gutted the second snake man, sulfurous yellow blood streaming into the night.

And then the demons struck back.

* * *

Hands like ice closed around Ginny's throat. Effortlessly the vampire—her mind identified the creature—held her against the alley wall while she struggled frantically. Magic and potions had enhanced her strength and stamina, but proved no match for the strength of the dead man.

The vampire was tall and emaciated with lank blond hair covering most of his face aside from electric blue eyes that stood out from the shadows. Ivory fangs curved over his lips and a long tongue slid past his fat, succulent lips. "I believe you wished for someone to ravage you?" he whispered sibilantly.

Fear paralyzed Ginny. His stink rippled across her skin, freezing her bones and muscles with remembered terror of another who had taken his pleasure from her flesh and from her fear. Quivering, she raised her wand with her free hand, only to have the vampire slap it away with hand that moved like a blur.

"You are helpless, little girl." The vampire whispered. "Do not worry though; this will only hurt for a moment."

He was right. When his fangs slipped through Ginny's flesh, it did only hurt for a second.

* * *

Narcissa reappeared in the vineyards. She had noticed smoke beginning to waft above the emerald rooftops and when the battle started she had gone to see what was happening. What she saw horrified her.

Demonic beings that looked like men wreathed in fire walked among the orchards. They dragged their hands long the vines and trees leaving trails of flame in their wake. Narcissa recognized them immediately. They were ash men, living bits of hellfire given consciousness through the primal fear all humans held for fire.

_Why are they doing this? _she wondered. This destruction was pointless. These people had done nothing but make wine for centuries. _But now they were supporting Harry. _An unfamiliar feeling welled up inside her—righteous indignation. These were good people and these demons were destroying that for nothing; Narcissa fell to her knees and drew her wand. After scratching a few runes into the earth, she began chanting. She would teach them a lesson.

After a several minutes the ground began to rumble. A huge hand of stone broke through moments later.

Bellatrix dodged past several frightened winegrowers and shot a grey wave that rolled over a pair of serpent demons, leaving their frozen husks shattered on the ground.

She looked around desperately—trying to find anyone who looked like they knew what they were doing—and failing miserably. She could see nothing through the chaos of the crowd aside for the occasional jets of stunners and other more violent spells.

Over the top of the crowd she could see the obsidian giant stalking through the village. Thrilling tendrils raced through her body. Now this was a challenge. She had always loved the attack and thrust of dueling and warfare, even before she turned to the dark arts, and testing her wand against an evil as old as the universe itself was exactly the sort the thing she longed to do. Familiar battle lust overcame her and she darted forward, blasting through several snake demons until she stood about forty paces before the terrible creature—one that she recognized from a few old lessons as a nephilim, a half devil/half human giant that began its life by murdering its own mother while in utero.

"_Argent Inflamare." _Bellatrix cried out. A silver flame spat from the tip of her wand and flew towards the giant, twisting and growing like an uncoiled rope. The living fire twisted around the giant and bound his arms. Licks of flame seared the giants flesh and pale wounds caused the creature to fling back its head and bellow. The young former dark witch felt rather impressed with herself over the effectiveness of her spell.

Until the giant demon broke it with a flex of his huge arms.

* * *

Hermione turned back towards the village when she heard the first cries. She was so far away, though, all she could see was the black giant that stretched up past the roofs of the houses and small but growing fires that burned like stars against the distant orchards.

_How did that thing sneak up on us? It must be fifteen feet tall! _She wondered.

Hermione drew her wand and raced towards the fight. She hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when she tripped over something and fell hard. The young girl bit her tongue to prevent herself from screaming as she ripped part of her half healed injury open. She could feel stickiness pour down the insides of her robes.

"Don't worry, young one. You won't feel that for much longer." A sinister voice spoke from behind her.

Hermione groaned and flipped herself around. Through a pain filled haze she saw a figure standing on the road behind her. A quick look at her feet explained what had happened. There was a weighted rope twined around her ankles.

"_Vestri poena est lenio."_

Hermione felt a soothing energy wash over her, taking away the burning in her side and the sting of the scrapes from her hands. But the spell did more than that. She continued to grow numb until she felt nothing at all, not even the ground beneath her body. Her mind analyzed the spell. It was a powerful anesthetic—more powerful than anyone would ever use except in the direst of circumstances. Most potions and pain remedies kept some of the pain alive because the body needed the sensations. If it was too effective, the body wouldn't just stop sending pain signals, but stop sending signals altogether, leading to permanent nerve damage. Her eyes were the only thing that still worked and she got a good look at the figure as it approached.

It was a nun.

The scariest nun Hermione had ever seen.

The woman wore a plain black and while woolen robe and habit that hid most of her hair, but left her lean, hatchet face bare. The Nun's face was seamed with age and awful wisdom. But here eyes were the worst. Her left eye was so pale it appeared gray. It watched Hermione with malevolence that seemed almost palpable. Her right eye however, was missing. In its place was a single emerald flame that danced and flickered within her eye socket.

"You have no idea who and what I am. Do you miss Granger?" The nun whispered in a voice like the rustle of sandpaper. "Shall I enlighten you before you die?"

Hermione lay there unanswering. Imperceptibly, her fingers began to twitch…

* * *

Harry ducked and wove around the blasts of infernal flame that spat from the maw of the nightmare horse daemon. His lungs burned and he threw up shield after shield, every barrier he could think of and conjure in a thought, desperately buying time for the men and women around him.

Finding a moment of breathing room, Harry shouted a word and blue lightning uncoiled from his sword, wreathing around the dark knight.

The baleful creature screamed in pain, a vicious sound that caused the hair on Harry's arm to stand on end. Dark fire rose around him burning away the lightning. With a bellow, the demon knight charged at Harry from atop his dark horse.

Harry met the charge, and the sound of steel on steel rang through the air as the boy wizard and the demon knight traded heavy blows. Harry couldn't see the expression on his opponents face, but he could sense the frustration at his unwillingness to die and more than a little surprise at Harry's own formidable power and skill.

Harry kept his face blank. He wasn't going to give away the fact that every collision nearly tore the sword from his hand and that his shoulder was nearly numb from the hard strikes. The demon knight was impossibly fast and strong. Harry had enhanced himself beyond mortal men, but this creature in front of him was imbued with all the might of the underworld itself.

"You will burn, Harry Potter." The demon intoned in a hollow voice. He flung out his arm and Harry flew backwards. With an expansive wave of his sword, a ring of sulfur yellow flame sprung up and enclosed the area around them. "You will die alone."

Harry rolled to his feet and held his sword up in a guard position. Unfortunately he could only agree.

* * *

Ron swung his blade in a back stroke that decapitated a snake demon behind him. With the same smooth motion he retracted and gutted a vampire on the left. He ducked and weaved through the demons; his only advantage in the battle was his greater speed. He couldn't dodge forever, though, and a third creature grabbed his arm and wrenched him around.

A fourth snake man bit him in the shoulder. Ron shook the demon off, tearing away a chunk of flesh. He slammed an elbow in the gut of the creature that had turned him around. Two swings of his Assassins blade later and the things were dead.

The redheaded glanced around. Chaos filled the peaceful streets of the town. People ran in every direction, firing weak, hedge mage spells—the best most of them could do without formal training. A quick look told him that Luna had gotten the children inside the nearest house. A silver glow surrounded the home, the evidence of powerful anti-demon spell—although Ron had no idea how the small girl could have even learned such potent magic.

Ron was moving toward the next knot of demons when the pain struck. Veins of fire poured through his flesh, his muscles dancing chaotically to a poisonous tone. He was driven to his knees by the pain. His sword slipped from nerveless fingers. With his other hand he fumbled for his wand but his fingers had grown so thick…

Darkness slipped around his vision and he knew no more.

* * *

Bellatrix threw herself backwards to avoid the large demons obsidian fist. She cast another spell through her sword and silver darts spat from the tip, burning into the giants flesh.

They didn't even slow him down.

With a casual kick the demon killed a nearby villager and Bellatrix growled. These were her people. She was a black. They were hers to protect. With a violent slash of her sword she unleashed another gout of silver flame upon the demon.

The thing bellowed and raised his arm in protection, falling back to escape the searing purity. Bellatrix poured on the power and advanced, a grin flickering on her face as she sensed victory approaching.

Desperately the genderless giant lashed out and a blue wave spat from his hand, crashing over the flame and ending the spell. Stretching to its full height, the giants blue lips curled into a smile and smashed his fist down on the small Amazon.

Bellatrix only had time to cast a single spell before blue light exploded around her.

* * *

"I am part of an organization that I think you would be able to appreciate, Miss Granger." The dark nun began. "We search for knowledge as well. We plumb the depths of hell itself to find answers to mysteries men have not even begun to ask." Her face creased into a smile. "You might even say that we steal bites from the apple of knowledge."

The woman sauntered over to Hermione, fondling her wand. Casually she aimed it at the girl. "I almost regret doing this. You have a fine mind." she said sadly. "There is no telling what you might have added to our world—too bad we will never know. _Avada Kedavra!_"

Hermione exploded into action. The bushy haired girl rolled to the side, narrowly missed the wave of emerald death that flashed forward. Even the backwash of the spell was enough to sicken her. With a smooth action, Hermione bounced to her feet.

"How?" the evil witch gasped. "That spell should have left you too numb to do anything."

Hermione shrugged. "You used a healing spell. I've perform rituals to enhance any healing magic used on me. The spell ended early because there was almost nothing for it to heal."

"Fascinating." The nun said. "But ultimately unimportant. I have a wand. You are helpless." Without another word, she shot black flame at Hermione. With newly improved reflexes the young bookworm dodged out of the way. Keeping her eye in the witch in front of her, she extended her senses in a vain attempt to seek out her wand.

The witch circled around, waving her wand in a complicated arc. Threads of energy gathered and then exploded outward in an oily barbed net that barely missed Hermione. The young girl finally located her wand behind her and threw herself backwards toward her power focus. She hit the ground and rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding another jet of emerald light. Hermione's hands closed around the rough wood of her wand. She spun and shouted the first spell that came to mind.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

The Nephilim stared at the glowing sphere of moonlight blocking his hand. Bellatrix would have found his expression laughable if the demon wasn't capable of smashing her bones to dust and if she wasn't using every ounce of her concentration to keep the spherical shield in place. She raised the sword over her head in one hand and the tip glowed as the focus for the spell.

Sweat poured down her face as he squeezed the wall, testing it for weakness. Even the pressure on the walls drove her to her knees as she fought to keep the barrier up. Finally, the half-human giant released the sphere and raised his hands together, interlacing his fingers. His ebony muscles bunched and flashed down in a sapphire comet of force.

The strike would shatter the sphere and kill Bellatrix if it landed. The young woman had only one chance; dropping the sphere she channeled every ounce of energy into her assassin's blade. With the blade a glowing bar of pure silver energy she raced forward in a blur. The world slowed down around her and she spun between the enormous pillars that served as nephilim's legs. With a fast strike that left an afterimage in the air Bellatrix hamstrung the giant. With a furious roar, the creature dropped to one knee. A second strike laid into his back bared the pale bones of its spine. Bowing its head in agony the Nephilim inadvertently bared its neck to Bellatrix.

A single strike ended the threat of the giant.

* * *

Harry and the demon knight crossed swords, sparks flying as the Boy-Who-Lived and the demon traded parries. Harry spat spells and stunners in between sword strikes, spells that the unholy knight deflected with little discernible effort. His lungs burned from inhaling the sulfurous smoke from the circle of yellow flame that hedged him in. Slowly, Harry's blows slowed and eventually the demon knight knocked the Assassin Blade from his hand.

A blow from the flat of the demons blade flung Harry to the ground. As the demon advanced and raised his sword to deliver the killing strike, Harry braced himself for death, his only thought for his friends as he prayed they found a way around the prophecy.

And then, a heroic shadow wielding a silver hammer leapt through the wall of flame.

"Milord Black, flee! I will hold this beast off." Dunkirk shouted.

The placid blacksmith wore an expression of grim determination as he wielded a heavy long handled hammer with a head glowing like a silver comet. The hammer was as light in his hands as a feather and he swung it with all the rhythm and fury of a blacksmith pounding a recalcitrant horseshoe. Impossibly, the ordinary man drove the dark creature back. Harry watched in amazement as village leader forced the demon to his knees. Harry knew, though, that it was surprise as much as the man's magic that was defeating the creature. Frantically he reached for the sword that had been torn from of his grip. His hand closed around the hilt even as he watched with horror as the demon recovered his balance and counterattacked. It only took two blows to shatter the hammer. Harry was on his feet racing towards Dunkirk and the dark warrior when he saw the demons blade slip between the mayor's ribs.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouted, a glowing spark blasting from the tip and blowing the creature out of the circle of flame. Dunkirk slid to the ground. Bloody foam dribbled from the blacksmiths lips. Harry cradled the man, heedless of the demon threat. "Why did you do that, headman?" he whispered sadly.

The man smiled, bloody froth from his punctured lungs staining his teeth pink. He coughed. "I… saved… you're alright, aren't you, Lord Black?" he grimaced and tried to stand. "I don't think I'm doing so well milord." he said weakly when he realized the extent of his injuries.

"Why?" Harry whispered a second time. Tears blinded him and all he saw was a blurry outline in front of him.

"You… you're going to send my boys to school, Lord Black." The dying man whispered, as if that was enough to justify his heroism. A strange light shone in his eyes. "My boys… real wizards…" a note of awe in his weakening voice. A moment later he closed his eyes and died.

Harry glanced up. The demonic warrior was moving towards him again having regained his feet and recovered his unholy blade. With dark determination, Harry stood. Wordlessly, his sword crackled with power, a trace of silver lightning dancing along the edge. A spell came unbidden to his mind. That had been happening often of late as he assimilated knowledge unconsciously as a result of the learning potions.

He darted forward, gripping the sword in two hands. Harry lashed out with the sword struck the blade of the dark knight. His attack was so fierce that he forced his opponent backwards. With manic blows, Harry battered the weapon away and sliced the demon down it's leg, dropping the knight to one knee. Harry towered above him in his fury, raising the Assassins blade high over his head "_Spiritus Ex Nihilo_." he cried out.

Bright light poured from the sword and Harry brought the blade down, shearing through the upraised sword and buried it up to the haft in the demon's chest. Silver light erupted from the wound and the dark creature turned to ash in a second, blowing away. The ring of sulfurous fire shrank and died.

Harry stalked off toward the demon horde with murder in his eyes.

* * *

Ron opened his eyes and peered into the face of an angel. A large misty eyed angel with dirty blond hair and thin pale lips.

"Luna?"

"Hello Ronald. I'm glad to see you are awake." she whispered. She knelt by his side, her wand laid on his shoulder wound. "We very nearly lost you." Her face was bland an expressionless, but somehow Ron knew that she had been desperately worried about him.

"How…" the redhead asked weakly. He tried to stand, realizing that they were still in the middle of a battle zone but the world spun around and he fell back to the ground.

"You're safe." The blond haired girl said. "I've warded us. None of the snake demons can come near. And I've been healing your wounds. The venom is most virulent." She suddenly smiled. "I've been experimenting with my internal alchemy on you, manipulating your pressure points to create the proper antidote. I feared it wasn't working, but it appears to have been mostly successful."

"How is the battle going?" Ron asked weakly. "And where is Hermione?"

"The battle is nearly over, Marie killed the black giant, Harry defeated the demon knight, and Claire summoned elementals of earth to finish what you started with the snake demons. The battle is very nearly over." Luna said with a smile, a smile that quickly disappeared when she spoke her next words. "But I don't know where Hermione is. She wasn't at the party at all."

Ron began struggling again. "We have to find her," he insisted. "She could be in trouble."

Luna smiled calmly. "She'll be fine. You'll see Ronald. We will all be fine."

Hermione wasn't fine. She stared in horror at the blank face of the woman she had just murdered. Slaughtered with an unforgivable. The flickering emerald flame within her eye socket had sputtered for a moment and then died. Hermione looked around. There was no one there. No one had seen what she'd done. Good.

The worst part of it was the way she felt. As soon as the spell had struck the other witch, warmth exploded through Hermione's loins with the force of an orgasm. She imagined that the feeling would be similar to what she might experience during sex. It felt so good—it was no wonder that dark wizards made the spell their favorite method of execution. She wanted to use it again already. She almost longed to fight a death eater.

With a quick stab of her wand Hermione used a cutting charm to savage the nun's throat. Blood trickled from the wound and pooled beneath her head. Without sparing another glance behind her, Hermione began walking down the path back toward the village.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor_

_Late Evening_

Andreas Nott walked through the shadowed hallway of the manor he had made his own over the past month. He strode past busts of former Malfoy family heads and pushed the whisperings of the dark paintings from his thoughts. He focused only on the room at the end of the hallway.

Draco had left him a note to come and see him. The dark wizard tightened his grip on his wand. He raged silently at the insolent youth. How dare the brat summon him, as though he were the real head of the Malfoy family.

With a swish of his wand the door opened before he even reached the portal. Draco sat at his desk, poring over a crumbling tome. Andreas paused to look at his godson before crossing the threshold. Draco had lost nearly one and a half stone over the past month. Once slim, he had grown gaunt. What muscle he had once had melted away, leaving him frail-looking. His cheekbones and jaw were sharp planes and harsh edges. His ash blond hair was brittle and split. In short, he was a half-dead wreck.

And absolutely perfect for Voldemort's plans.

"I don't appreciate being summoned, Draco. I believe you have let that little title of yours go to your head." Andreas spat.

"I have something to show you." Draco rasped.

"What, pray tell, can you possibly show me that would justify summoning me at this hour of the night"

"Just this." Draco turned and aimed his wand at Andreas. Sickly blue light flashed from the tip and Andreas fell before he could create a shield. Draco got to his feet and walked over to the body. Kneeling near his godfather's ear, he whispered: "I finally mastered that spell you wanted me to learn." he breathed softly. "Do I meet with your approval Godfather?"

The soulless form of Andreas Nott began to drool.

* * *

Harry stepped on the neck of the fallen Snake Demon, and with a power two-handed slash that sent sulfur ichor flying, ended the battle. One short hop later and Harry stopped to survey the damage. It was extensive.

Bodies lay everywhere. The screams of the injured and dying filled Harry's ears as they cried out for aid. As they cried out for him. Tears stung his eyes; ashamed, he turned and wiped at them with his knuckles. He had brought the war here. He had brought death and pain to this quiet place, this haven away from the world. Centuries had passed here, centuries in which wizards and witches drank wine made in this emerald Eden as time passed it by.

And then Harry arrived. He came with his friends and his pretensions of nobility. He came with his ideas and revolutions. Pain was all he left in his wake.

Harry walked among the injured. Ash and smoke covered everything. An ever-present smell of burned wood permeated the air. It combined with the vacated bowels of the dead and dying to create a terrible perfume that left more than one person vomiting. The dark sky was pink with the dwindling fires that had destroyed much of livelihood of the village. He barely saw Sefu and Monique levitating the injured and separating the hurt from the dying by the severity of their wounds. He didn't notice Fang Yu and her Eunuchs as they laid their bamboo wands on the broken villagers to begin the process of healing. He walked past Ginny who leaned against a wall heavily, holding her neck. Blood covered half her body, but although pale, she seemed to be healthy. From the corner of his eye he saw Luna and Ron, the latter looking ridiculous as Luna half carried him towards Hermione. The bookish girl had dark blood plastered to her side and she limped down the pathway that led back to the manor. Harry saw her smile at Ron and Luna. He briefly met her gaze and that smile faltered. Harry wondered what he looked like, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn't much care about anything at the moment.

He didn't stop until he stood in front of wrecked body of Dunkirk, the village leader and blacksmith. The fact that all his friends seemed okay was a cold comfort as he studied the body of the dead man. He lay on the ground, the blood and foam that splattered his body long since dried and darkened on his face. Even in death he clutched the shattered haft of the magical hammer he had used to save Harry's life.

"Do you wish a status report, Lord Black?" Karl Black moved to stand next to the boy leader.

"Yes." Harry's voice was flat and emotionless.

"About twenty dead. A few children injured but the oldest of the dead was a teenager. Looked like a vampire snapped his neck. Dominique Black, your host is dead. It appears that she took a killing curse to the back. We can't find her servant, Thomas. It's looks as though he betrayed her. Betrayed all of us"

Harry nodded mutely. After several moments of silence he spoke.

"I want the best care for every one of them. Hire the best healers, med witches, potion masters, whatever. And I want builders, dwarven if possible, so that we can rebuild the burned houses. Get herb masters down here. I want the grapes and orchards replaced as fast as possible. Spare no expense. Beggar my vault if you need to, but I want this place perfect again."

Harry glanced down at the dead man.

"He was a good man." Karl said quietly. "I had a few dealings with him. He was always fair, and he had a lot more common sense than many wizards.

"More than that." Harry said quietly. "He saved me from that demon warrior." The young wizard pointed at the shattered weapon. "Used that magic hammer until I could recover my sword."

Karl looked at the broken hammer and snorted. "That thing is no more magic than I am a veela princess."

"I… I don't understand" Harry said. "I saw it. It was glowing with magic, and he was swinging it like it weighed no more than a feather."

Karl smiled in genuine amazement. "I would have never guessed him to be an earth adept."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What's an earth adept?"

"Adepts are something in between wizards and squibs. They have magic but it's weak in every area except one. They're actually quite rare. I've seen a wizard who couldn't so much as levitate a feather with a wand, but if you glanced even slightly into his eyes he would know secrets even you had forgotten. I am willing to bet that our unassuming little blacksmith could channel the magic of the earth through his hammer."

"He was indeed an Earth Adept." A plumb, kind eyed woman walked up to the two Lords Black. She dabbed at red eyes. "My Dun wasn't much of a wizard, but a mountain couldn't move him if he didn't want to be moved."

Harry found he couldn't look the woman in the eye. He tried looking anywhere but at the grieving widow but everywhere he looked, he couldn't escape the devastation. He only looked at her directly when she laid a calloused hand on his shoulder. "Milord Black, I'm hoping you don't mind a common woman speakin' outta turn but you're being a right fool."

Karl could only laugh at Harry's confused expression. The boy who lived raised his gaze up to stare at the woman quizzically.

"My Dun," she said with a sad smile. "He believe in you somethin' fierce, Lord Black. He saw specialness in you." She waved her hand around the smoke soaked ruin. "You didn't bring this, Lord Black. You and your friends as well as the other Lords and Ladies Black, you brought food, you brought wealth, and you brought hope. Hope that our boys and girls could get something more outta life than to be grape growers and wine makers. This, this was wrought by people who want to crush that hope."

She stared hard at Harry. He could read wisdom and pain in her gaze. "You don't let them do that, you hear? You don't let them from stopping you from bringing that hope to everyone." With that, the woman drew her wand and waved the stick at her dead husband, levitating him away.

Karl watched the woman leave with a pensive expression on his face. "That is a very wise woman. Perhaps you're on to something with this education initiative, Harry. These people could be amazing."

"No." Harry said quietly. "These people are amazing."

* * *

Once again, read and review. I get my inspiration from your comments. 


	9. Rail Gray

Redemption of the Black Sisters 9

By Phoenixgod2000

Authors note: I want to thank my beta Sean whom makes this story better in an infinite number of ways. I also want to thank the women who inspire my female characters, good and bad ones alike. You know who you are.

_The worst nightmares are not born out of the hidden crevices of dream worlds but out of the malaise of sleeping men. __The worst offenders are the deepest sleepers. _

_Luckily, not everyone sleeps deeply…_

_--The Journal of Androlphus Black_

_Somewhere below Rome_

_September 1st _

There were cities, there were cities, and there was Rome. Ancient yet powerful and vigorous, Rome was great dragon of a city. It slumbered and steamed, but was could breathe fire when its ire was raised.

And like all dragons, Rome had a treasure hoard, a collection of history and knowledge, of ancient power and wisdom. It lay in the halls of the Grand Confederation of Wizards (the international body responsible for governing the wider world of wizards), in its traditions and magical schools, and in the hidden chambers of the One Hundred Families, the true lords of the Grand Confederation, the bones of whom could still be found by seekers with the power and understanding to unearth their resting places. Its hoard lay in the tombs and cathedrals of the great wizard popes of the past, their homes and final resting places beneath the Holy See, their very spirits imbedded into the stones that the oblivious tourists walked along, gods and ghosts alike hiding beneath their shadows. All manner of forgotten things – falling into the corners of an expanding world with no use for magic – could be found in the curio shops that catered to the lost, and the knowing.

But beneath the hallowed ground rested another dragon: a beast of slime and brick, withered skeletons, and fallen tombs. This dragon thrived in the dark places where the righteous feared to tread, in hidden warrens where whispered chants survived far too long, echoing across the shadows and cracks that lived in the blackest places in men's hearts. Any wizard stepping into that dark world would feel the workings of evil that had given this ground its own character, a fell, unholy personality that was forever hungry.

The worst of these veiled places was the Church of Bones. Some say it was formed by early Christian wizards, using necromancy to ward away the Centurions who had persecuted them in the time before Rome accepted Christianity. Others claim that unwholesome workings of magic, the unholy marriage of pagan rites and druidic rituals gave birth to its atmosphere. Few were those who could find it, fewer still were those willing to make a second pilgrimage.

In truth, all that was beyond doubt was that the Church lay in a vast subterranean chamber, it's domed ceiling disappearing deep into the shadows and trimmed by skeletons, hung together with sinew and bits of muscle, dangling from invisible strings. Many of them had lambent flames in their eye sockets, and to those with discerning gazes the heads of those dark decorations moved to observe all who stepped foot into the great chamber. Dominating the center of the room was an enormous pentagram, carved directly into the stone of the floor and painted dark with the lifeblood from centuries of unwilling sacrifices, many of whom served as macabre adornments for the ancient church. Dark magic hung in the air, thick like perfume, patiently waiting for those with power and influence. For the past six hundred years, the church had served as the dwelling place of the Black Circle of Judas.

For those disposed to dark humor, The Black Circle of Judas provided much amusement. The Black Circle opened its arms to all member of any faith tracing itself to Abraham and his descendants, spiritual or otherwise. Its members were preachers and teachers, cardinals and patriarchs, imams and rabbis. In its own way, it was perhaps the most egalitarian grouping of faiths in the history of the world.

12 figures in black hooded robes positioned themselves around the enormous enchanted diagram. Each member a dark lord or lady in their own right, they carried with them invisible chains to demonic servants for while they nominally served the same ends, each jockeyed for position and favor from their head, the Black Pope.

"We gather to speak of the failed attack on Lord Black and his allies." the Black Pope intoned. "We must decide how best to proceed."

The leader of the Circle was tall and lean, and wore a deep red gem set on a heavy golden chain as his only decoration other than the engraved wooden staff of polished white ash clutched in his hand. His face lay hidden behind a black cloth mask, as were all those present.

"We lost many foot soldiers in the attack, as well as Samael the Ashen and nephilim Korath. Sister Magdalene Agnes had long served our brotherhood, and her loss was detrimental to our future plans." The Black Pope said to the group. "The time has come to examine our progress."

A second figure spoke. He was portly, his deep voice colored by a Russian accent. "The Prophecies of Ash, the prophecies you yourself made long ago, speak of the coming dark age, and the one who might stop it as the Lord of Lightning. Can there be any doubt that it speaks of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and who brought the mighty Black family to heel."

A woman's voice sounded, a French lilt infecting her softly spoken words. "This is why we agreed to help Voldemort, he serves as our best check against Potter and Dumbledore. Although the old man is not mentioned by prophecy, it would be foolish indeed to discount his power. Let us not forget that he is the last wizard known to have destroyed a devil, and were he to turn his might against us he might destroy all for which we have labored."

A fourth voice entered the discussion, bearing a distinctly Persian accent. "Our Order has existed for two millennia, learning secrets at the feet of the Gnostic Apostle Judas himself. We will not be undone by a man who takes fashion advice from the Merlin – we are greater than that."

French voice rebutted. "I believe that Ibis made the same argument—right before he was destroyed by Dumbledore. The old phoenix is canny and strong, and rarely makes the same mistake more than once. A lesson my unfortunate father had to learn the hard way."

"The question before us is on how to proceed." The Black Pope interjected. "Our resources are stretched thin – between the bindings of the lesser demons and the Grand Summoning, we cannot continue this pursuit indefinitely."

A New York accent jumped into the conversation. "I spoke against the Grand Summoning to begin with. It occupies too much of our time, time which would be better served acting according to the prophecies. We do not need this Voldemort creature – he and his horcruxes are an affront to our principles. He carves his soul into pieces while we exalt ours. He should be destroyed."

"We do need him," the Russian voice replied, "at least for now. By supporting Voldemort's war against the forces of Light, we risk little and stand to gain much. I too, am wary of the Old Phoenix and the Lightning Lord. We must continue as we have, in the shadows, in secret, until the day of the prophecies is upon us."

The Black Pope replied "I above all others know the promise of the Prophecies of Ash, the fulfillment of the promise first made in the Garden of Eden. Voldemort will fight this battle for us, our proxy, as Dark Lords have warred against the Light on our behalf over the millennia. We will deliver him the troops he requires, and when he stands victorious we will hasten our efforts towards the fulfillment of the prophecies and the destruction of the Grand Seals. He will live his pathetic half-life for perhaps a century, along side his Death Eaters. They will debauch and sin and destroy themselves as fools always do. We will endure, and from the ashes of this world a new one shall rise, a world where we rule as Gods."

As one, the figures bowed to their leader. "The heir of Judas is wise, Michel de Nostredame has spoken."

* * *

_September 1st _

_Platform of 9 ¾ _

Children cried and friends laughed, meeting each other anew after a long holiday break. Parent comforted young first years, and older siblings held younger in tight grips. Parents who hadn't seen each other since their own time at Hogwarts stopped to talk with old friends. It was a scene of chaos and joy, embodying the precious moments of everyday life.

A life that she thought had been lost forever when she threw her lot in with Voldemort.

Even amongst the joy she felt it, the undercurrent of fear and tension tainting this pleasant scene. Fear of death and apprehension for the safety of loved ones. She herself had helped to create this fear with her atrocities, and once she had delighted in her role as a bogeyman, a specter invoked by children to frighten their peers. She had helped to make people avoid going out in public, for fear that her wrath could be invoked at any time as punishment for the crime of daring to live freely, to live without fear. Bellatrix remembered the perverse joy she had taken in inflicting pain and torture on the helpless. Looking back on it, it sickened her. She sickened herself.

But good memories were returning to Bellatrix Black as well: if she closed her eyes she could still faintly smell her mothers perfume, feel the press of her father's strong hands as they hugged her before sending her to the train for the very first time.

Bellatrix had always been a playful child, so at odds with her grave and unemotional parents. Even these many years later she still recalled her surprise and joy at the naked emotions they had demonstrated on that long ago day. It had warmed her, the idea that her distant parents loved her and missed her.

She, Harry, and the others stood alone on the platform as children of all ages raced around them, islands of calm resolve in a crushing sea of humanity, the gulf separating her from them feeling suddenly overwhelming. She was two decades older than even the oldest students preparing to board the Hogwarts express, and she had a wealth of knowledge, power, and experience that they – in the majesty of their youth – couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Nightmares as well.

"We should get on the train." Bellatrix announced suddenly.

"We have been standing here for a while, haven't we?" Harry said with a smile.

"Well, it is rather strange." Ron agreed. "It's going to be hard to return to being a Quiddich-mad slacker after the month we've had."

"At least you can admit that you used to be a layabout." Hermione teased.

Ron glanced at the short brunette at his side. "Wasn't talking about that part. I was just thinking that Quiddich won't seem quite as exciting after swinging a sword through a demon."

"Fine then." Harry said. "You won't be my Co-captain for the Gryffindor side."

"Hey! I can become a Quiddich-mad slacker again. Just watch me!" Ron answered back hastily.

Harry clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Let's just get on the train before you dig yourself deeper in with Hermione."

Ron looked at his bushy-haired friend's narrowed gaze and sighed. "Too little, too late, mate."

* * *

_The world spun as her life leaked through a hole in her neck. _

_It took all her strength to pull away. Tearing wildly at her own throat, she pulled free of his fangs, leaving more than a little of her flesh behind. She was bleeding faster now, and she did the only thing she could think of. She retaliated, her ritual enhanced strength and agility momentarily taking her assailant off guard. Raging with her arms, hands and fingers, she beat desperately at her ancient attacker, drawing a trickle of blood which splashed across her face, changing the course of her life forever. As the tainted blood crossed the threshold of her tiny mouth, reason fled as primordial instinct took over, and she renewed her assault with a new frenzy, her fingernails and teeth tearing at her attacker before finally gaining purchase on his neck. Her dull, flat teeth tore at his corpse-cold skin, and cold blood seeped from the wound as she fixed her mouth on the hole and began to consume his essence, drawing all she could from the slow moving river of dark life. After a time, the vampire ceased his useless struggle as death claimed him, and Ginny Weasley rose to her feet, smearing blood across her cheek in a wide smudge with her battered hands._

_Copper sloshed in her stomach, but she was so hungry, and no matter how much she drank that night, she never filled up…

* * *

_

Michael Corner lay out lazily in the car. Earlier he had dimmed the lights and locked the door with a charm. He wanted his own car this year, and felt he deserved it after putting up with Cho all summer. The Chinese girl hadn't stopped her twin pains of crying and complaining, and as beautiful as she was, even the sex had palled in the face of her constant aggravations after a while.

She wasn't as good as Ginny, anyway.

Michael smiled at nothing in the darkness. Little Ginny Weasley. She had proven to be quite a revelation at the Yule ball, and after. Neville had abandoned her and was sitting in the corner, overcome by shyness. He had swooped in to talk with the pretty, innocent redhead.

It hadn't taken long to discover that she was very much the opposite of innocent. To this day he couldn't understand how a girl like that could ever imagine herself happy with clumsy, fat Neville. She was so vivacious and alive. There was a wildness about her that lurked beneath the surface. He could see it clearly after getting to know her for a while. She could inflame a boy's lust with a shake of her head and a coquettish glance through the veil of her red hair.

She had made him scream and beg, bringing him to the heights of ecstasy and leaving marks on his skin he had couldn't easily explain to his roommates.

And then she had dumped him. No words, no complaints, just… gone.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Go 'way." He mumbled.

The door opened and he frowned and turned to see who it was that had broken through his spell. A thin, flamed haired shadow framed the doorway. The only thing he could make out in the darkness was a pair of coppery eyes.

"Gin?" he ventured, "Zat you?"

Moving into the light, the stunning girl whispered. "I'm wounded, have you forgotten me so easily?"

Michael wrinkled his brow in confusion, barely recognizing his old girlfriend. She couldn't possibly have changed so much over the few short months of summer, could she?

Her hair had darkened to the color of fresh blood and hung in thick waves down her back. Her face was sharper and more defined. One of Ginny's signature characteristics, her slim, boyish but athletic body had changed, getting riper and rounder while losing nothing of the lean muscle that made her such a skilled Chaser. High, firm breasts pushed out from beneath the fabric of her shirt, and the swell of her shapely hips strained against the edges of her trousers. She looked taller as well, her body filling the doorway without effort.

She slipped into the room soundlessly and shut the door, her fluid movements carrying her to his side in the blink of an eye.

"You're impossible to forget Gin, you just surprised me is all." Michael said. He sat up, swinging his legs around until he was facing her.

"I've gone through some… changes this summer, Michael." She said, dropping her gaze. "I was an idiot to let you go, I realize that now. There's no one else at this school who can give me what you can."

Michael sat up and squared his shoulders. "And what might that be?" He asked in his best version of a manly voice.

White teeth flashed in the dark.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes, staring again at the thick bundle of information. It hadn't been any easier to digest the second time through. Black intelligence operatives sent him daily reports on the movements of Death Eaters on the mainland, but ironically he received the least useful intelligence from England, Scotland, and Ireland because Sirius, Bellatrix, and Narcissa were all that remained of the local Black families.

The families were doing exactly what he had ordered, and task forces from the more battle ready members were already busy destroying enclaves of dark creatures. One of his Italian operatives reported that they had just successfully tracked an ancient roman vampire to Venice, and were laying the ground work for an attack. They expected to be done in a few days.

Other missives came from the One Hundred Families of the Grand Confederation. The One Hundred Families were the cornerstone of the international Wizarding world, ancient families from around the world who came together to suggest actions that were then ratified by the larger congress. The Blacks were one of the families, although they weren't among the oldest: there were some who could trace their bloodlines to Atlantis and Babylon. New families were only introduced when older family lines ended completely.

The last Wizarding War had seen the elevation of seven new families to the Hundred, most of them American. That country had the largest assemblage of wizards in any single country in the west, only India and China having a greater wizard population. Because of their youth, however, the Americans had possessed only one representative family until Voldemort ended several of the more ancient bloodlines. Narcissa informed him that he needed to present himself soon, and nominate someone to be his voice on the council.

Exciting.

He also needed to find someone to take over the Black estates in France. Dominique had spent so much time globe-trotting that she hadn't ever bothered to marry, or even produce a bastard or two. The estates needed to fall to another Black, and without a line of succession it fell to Harry to decide whom to bestow them on.

Harry did have the beginnings of a plan, but it was sure to raise some controversy among the families since the candidate with the best bloodlines wasn't completely human and the other families would surely look askance on a half-witch taking over the vast French estates. Still, she would remain loyal and that counted more than hurt feelings in a time of war.

He thrust the papers down next to him and stared out the window. He was alone in the car. Ron, Luna, and Hermione were at the prefects meeting, Ginny was out… somewhere, and Bellatrix and Narcissa had been overcome by nostalgia and had decided to wander the halls of the train.

"There's just too much," he muttered. He rubbed his head at the headache that was threatening to explode behind his scar.

He had no training in this, in being a Lord. He had advisors, but Hermione and Narcissa could only carry him so far and Narcissa couldn't use any of her old contacts anymore. There were dispatches from all over the world, business assessments from his holdings, pleas from his magical serfs for intercession, and the number of languages in which he could now read mudblood-loving traitor was truly impressive. It all seemed so important.

And that wasn't all of it.

Harry pulled a small box from beneath his robes and opened it. The philosopher stone sat, nestled snugly in the velvet-lined interior. The irregularly shaped red stone was the key to eternal life, limitless wealth, and a giant bull's eye on his back if anyone ever learned that he possessed one.

He tried thinking about what life might be like at one hundred, two hundred, or three hundred years of age but couldn't. All he saw were Death Eaters casting jets of killing light, and a devastated green village. He had lived many nightmares about the things he had seen, and the aftermath of the ambush. He tried not to blame himself, told himself that he and his friends had saved many lives that night, but he always returned to the image of the dead mayor… how that calm man had died saving him, and despite all the he knew he felt guilty in his heart. It was the way he was built—it was what made him quintessentially human, and not a thing like Voldemort.

But it didn't make it any easier.

* * *

The wind whipped through Bellatrix's cinnamon hair. She stood outside the train, leaning against the railing. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel, reveling in the remembered images of her youth, those simple times before dark magic, before the crucios, before the Dark Mark. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel her sister's approach.

"Sickle for your thoughts." Narcissa said.

"School. Life. Classes." Bellatrix replied. "It was surreal to be back n the old platform. On this train."

"I know," her sister agreed. "If I concentrate hard enough, I can still feel old Slughorn's lecherous gaze down the front of my blouse."

"Funny, I thought Slughorn's lecherous gaze was how you passed NEWT Potions with an O instead of the EE you deserved."

Her younger sister raised an imperious eyebrow. "Better than dating Severus for a term."

Bellatrix lifted her nose. "As greasy as he was, that man has a gift working with his hands." she retorted.

Both sisters laughed. "It'll be good to get back to school." Narcissa admitted. "I was happier there than I ever was afterwards."

"You were the one to press mother and father to marry Lucius."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"This is a chance to do better the second time around." Bellatrix said. "For both of us."

"Maybe I can avoid marrying an ass this time." Narcissa said with a mixture of bitterness and humor. "Or at least upgrade to an ass who's good in bed."

"I've seen the way you look at Harry." The older sister joked. "You could always move on to him. Train him up right."

"That's not funny." Her sister said in a low tone.

Bellatrix frowned and faced her younger sister. There was something in the tone of her voice that piqued her curiosity. "You… you don't have feelings for Harry, do you?" Bellatrix asked.

Narcissa turned away from her sister and stared at the fast-moving scenery. "I'm almost three times his age." She whispered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off a chill no one else could feel. "He's Harry-bleeding-Potter, James and Lily's son. He should be with someone younger, someone he can make all the stupid decisions of love with. Someone he can grow with."

"You didn't answer my question." Bellatrix said.

"No, I don't suppose I didn't." Narcissa admitted. "Yes, I feel something for Harry. The boy—no, that man—is in so far over his head that I don't even know how he has the strength to get up in the morning, but he does. He never complains, he just shoulders his burdens, and ours, and soldiers on. He has the prophecy… and he cares so much for people, people he doesn't even know, but caring hasn't made him weak. He has tremendous magical power, wealth, and status, and none of it has gone to his head. All this and he is sixteen years old. He's going to be magnificent; it's all there already, inside him, all that potential just waiting to come out…" The blond witch sighed. "He is the man I thought Lucius was when I begged mum and dad to agree to his offer of marriage… part of me sees this sixteen year-old face in the mirror and I think maybe…just maybe I could throw him down and make him mine. Merlin only knows what he would do if I wasn't occluding my mind against the link we have."

"So why don't you? Make him yours?" Bellatrix asked. She kept her voice light but she could not help but experience a flash of… something, not jealousy spasm through her abdomen. She remembered the feather light touch of Harry's lips on her own and squelched the feelings.

Narcissa let out an unladylike snort. "While I might occasionally forget who I once was, I don't believe for a second Harry has—or ever will. Can you imagine a world where he could ever love one of us?"

* * *

"So this year we will be focused more on security than we have been," Head Girl Cho Chang instructed to the Prefects, "Which means several things. Your duties will expand to patrolling during Hogsmead weekends, in pairs. You'll alternate weekends so that everyone gets some time off. Nathan and I will be set the schedule and we'll have that to you as soon as possible."

"Furthermore," Nathaniel Gregory continued, "You will patrol around Hogwarts on expanded rotations. The Headmaster has spent the summer strengthening the wards around Hogwarts. You all know that we're at war now." The tall blond boy glanced quickly at the three prefects sitting by the door. "Doubtless, some of you know more about it than others. There have been a lot of things in the Prophet about what Voldemort's been up to, and how Dumbledore is trying to stop him. There are rumors about his injuries in the paper and we're here to tell you that they aren't true." The blond Slytherin smiled confidently at the room. Nathaniel Gregory was the embodiment of the positive qualities of the green and silver house, and they'd been honed in a way that could only happen to a muggleborn in a class of pureblood supremacists. He radiated both strength and character in equal measure. "Dumbledore is in tip-top shape, and we have nothing to worry about."

Luna Lovegood tuned out the rest of the speech. While devoting part of her mind to absorbing the information, she worked at fine tuning her internal alchemy. Over the past two months she had become more skilled at creating potions within her own blood, manipulating her magic to wash the fatigue from her muscles. Other potions maintained her health and preserved the muscle tone she had built up over the months of summer.

It was a strange thing, she decided, the idea that she was selected as one of the Prefects. Her fellow Ravenclaws hated her. They thought she was insane. In her darkest moments she wondered if maybe they weren't right. After all, how many people had their dead mother whispering secrets to them? How many knew other peoples thoughts before they vocalized them. Her mother's voice had urged her to make friends with Harry Potter, and it was that voice that told her to use the Thestrals to reach the Ministry. It was that same voice that whispered that Ron needed her, that he was important, but he couldn't do what he needed to do if he went insane from the brain tendrils.

Her gaze drifted to Hermione. She was the only person in the room that Luna couldn't read, the only mystery. With everybody else, she knew at least something about how they were feeling, what they were thinking. She didn't know everything, but she knew that Cho was terrified, Nathaniel was attracted to her, and that Ron must have a bottomless appetite because he was so hungry, Luna thought he might be able to eat an entire cow. But Hermione… was blank.

Maybe that's why she liked her so much.

At least Hermione used to be the only one Luna couldn't read. She glanced warily at Draco Malfoy, the sixth year Slytherin prefect. He had kept his badge after the dreaded inquisitorial squad by only the narrowest of margins. Luna used to be able to read him quite easily—she knew all about his insecurities and failures, his secret desires and hidden deeds—terrible, pathetic, and noble alike.

He had changed over the summer. Always thin, he had grown positively gaunt. His hair was straw-like and brittle, and his arms were thin cords of vein and muscle. His eyes were sunken pits of burnished silver, and he watched the proceeding through heavy lids, like a torporus member of his namesake.

And as she watched, she got nothing from him. Not a sense, not a quiver of intention. He was a blank wall, a black hole of feelings. He terrified her. There was something new in him, some new strength radiating from his frail body. Pansy, who normally clung to him like particularly annoying lichen, sat far away and watched him cautiously. It took a moment for Luna to realize who Draco reminded her of.

Harry.

He had the same sort of tired strength, the same guarded gaze that challenged the few who met it, the same power—power which he carried about him like a cloak, so old and so worn that it seemed like a part of him that he didn't notice any longer.

The meeting ended a few moments later and the prefects filed out. Draco didn't glance in her direction as he left, nor did he stop to insult Ron and Hermione. He even pushed past Pansy in his effort to be the first out of the compartment. Ron narrowed his gaze and Luna saw his wand hand twitch while staring at Draco's back, and she saw Hermione instinctively drop a comforting hand on his shoulder until the redhead's tension subsided.

The pair paused at the doorway, and it took a moment for Luna to realize that she hadn't moved from her chair. She blinked and stood. Drifting, she moved toward the door.

"Luna wait."

Cho Chang stood, and with a wave she motioned off Ron and Hermione. "I need to speak with Luna alone." The head girl said quietly.

Glancing quickly at Luna, the pair nodded and left, leaving Cho alone with their blond-haired friend. With a nod to the Chinese girl, Nathan departed, dropping a companionable hand on Luna's shoulder before he left.

"I was wondering how you were adjusting to being made Prefect—especially with your lack of… popularity. I wanted to answer any questions you might have, as I would guess you were probably rather surprised by the selection." The dark haired girl said quietly.

"No, I wasn't." Luna said calmly. "I knew."

"You always do." Cho said. "That's why…"

"People say I'm a little loony." Luna rejoined with a crooked smile.

"I'm sorry." Cho whispered brokenly. "I never… I should have done something. Stopped the bullying."

"You've never done anything to me." Luna said in a bland tone while capturing Cho with her large, luminous eyes. "Why did you nominate me? I know you did." she continued

Cho shook her head. "No…

"Yes. I know it was you." Luna said again insistently. "You made the teachers pick me."

"I recommended you." Cho admitted. "You went with Harry to the Department of Mysteries. You went against Umbridge. You believed when few others did. And you just spent all summer training with Harry. You are the best female fifth-year Ravenclaw. By about a kilometer."

"Thank you." Luna said. "My father was very pleased with my new role. Mum was a Prefect in their day." She smiled. "My father said I looked just as pretty with my badge on."

Cho smiled. "I'll bet you do."

Luna walked towards the door. "I'll be a good Prefect," she said while walking. "I won't let anything happen to any of my students." She paused by the doorway and met Cho's gaze. "Either by my actions or lack of them." she whispered.

* * *

Cho flinched.

Bellatrix stood alone on the back of the train. Her sister had gone back inside and left the older girl alone to ponder her uncertain future.

She was deep in thought when she heard footsteps approaching from behind. The girl-cum-woman turned her head to see who was approaching, and saw a boy with a face that looked like it had once been round, but had lost much of its surface area rapidly. She thought that once his face settled he would be a very handsome young man, he was already tall and fairly muscular—although much of that muscle was still encased under a smooth layer of fat. Overall, he gave the impression of someone who was in transition from unfit to fit. He also looked quite surprised to see someone else standing outside.

"Oh… hullo." He blinked rapidly and turned a little red when he saw how attractive the girl in front of him was.

"Hi." Bellatrix said with a smile. _No time for getting in character like the present _she mused.

"I didn't know that anyone else came out here." The boy explained. "You… um… surprised me."

Bellatrix shrugged. "It's alright. I was just getting some air. It's my first time on this train." She lied easily.

"Really? Are you transfer student?"

"I'm… uhh… Marie…" Bellatrix said, stumbling over the lie. "Marie Dumbledore. My Great Uncle is the Headmaster."

For some reason while it was easy to lie to about something like the train, to lie about something more intimate than that was harder. She was unused to hiding who she was—and she was a powerful Slytherin witch, and not a young student lion.

If the boy noticed her hesitation he didn't show it "Wow."

Bellatrix looked down. "Really, it's more nerve-wracking than anything. I have a lot to live up to with this last name."

"I know how you feel." The boy said. "I've been coming here for five years, but I feel like it's my first time on the train. I lost some weight and I got a new wand. Some of my parents Auror friends have been helping me out with some training. I think this is going to be a good year for me." He blushed. "Maybe… I'll… uhh…"

"Find a girlfriend?" Bellatrix finished helpfully.

The boy looked down. "Something like that. There's a girl I've liked for a really long time and maybe I'll have a real chance with her this year."

"Good for you." Bellatrix smiled. "Look me up at school. I'm in Gryffindor. Maybe I can give you some pointers."

"Oh! Me too!" the boy said excitedly. "Things are already looking up. I've made a new friend already." He stuck out his hand. "Names Neville Longbottom, by the way."

* * *

_So the three modes of correspondence are equal to the amount of…_

Narcissa let her mind drift through the complex equations of Arithmancy. She wanted to polish her rusty skills so she could reach the top of her class again. Her pride was far too great to allow someone else the top spot.

It was proving harder than she remembered.

Of course, more difficult than Arithmancy was attempting to concentrate while Harry was around. It seemed that her confession to her sister had opened up a flood gate of unwanted emotions, emotions that she – as a Slytherin – was not equipped to deal with.

She could feel his presence, his essential maleness, as he sat beside her, playing three-way Exploding Snap with Ron and Bellatrix. His hard body seemed to take up more space than it should. Her legs curled beneath her, her toes digging into the side of his leg.

Hermione and Luna had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones. Narcissa could probably have heard them if she tried, but she was making an effort to be less nosy.

She continued to scratch notes into her book until the door to their compartment burst open. Reflexively, she reached for her wand, positioning herself so that it rested beneath her body, not visible to anyone entering the room.

That had been the plan, anyway.

When she saw Draco framed in the doorway she jerked upright, causing her wand to fall from the bench, rolling up against his booted foot.

Draco stared at the implement as if it were a foreign object. Slowly his silver gaze traveled from the wand to Narcissa where his eyes traced her body, starting at her feet and ending on her face. "Who are you?" he asked slowly, as if savoring each word.

Narcissa couldn't speak. She was frozen, staring at her son in shock. Distantly she heard Harry jump in as he realized she wasn't responding.

"She's Claire Dumbledore, the Headmaster's niece." Harry said flatly. "Now sod off."

He casually drew his wand and let it dangle between his fingers; daring Draco to try something, confident that his enhanced reflexes were sufficient to deal with anything Draco could throw at him.

Narcissa's mind spun. He was here. Her son was here. Here. In this compartment. Intellectually she had known that by going to school with Harry, she was going to encounter her only child, but that cold, intellectual knowledge didn't have the bite of seeing him in front of her possessed. And what a painful bite it turned out to be.

Her mind catalogued his appearance with all the ruthless detail of a mother's eye. His robes were rich and well made—reinforced with dragon hide from the looks of them. His posture was straight and proud; his eyes scanned the room with calm assurance—just as she and Lucius had taught him. Draco had his wand out, but hanging loosely at his side as he matched Harry's nonchalance.

That's where he stopped impressing her.

His eyes were burning pits of molten silver; those strange, beautiful pureblooded eyes—eyes that she had so admired in Lucius—were feverish in Draco. His skin was stretched like a drum across his face, transforming his aristocratic features into a skull-like visage. His hair was brittle and long, and hung limply around on shoulders that were far too thin.

Everything about him screamed 'man on the edge'. She had been selfish, she realized. What had she condemned her son to, in her hasty decision to live her life over again? Could she truly have been so self-absorbed? Yes, he had proven to be a disappointment, but whose fault was that? Had she even once attempted to wrest him from Lucius' influence? Had she ever shown him a different pureblood path than mindless hate for the socially inferior? She recalled some of the less charitable things she had thought and said about her son to Harry and felt physically ill. Draco was her son, and if he had let her down it was because she had let him down first.

He had deserved better from her, from his mother.

"I want a truce this year, Potter." Draco said flatly. "There is a war on, and there are larger things afoot than our schoolboy attempts at one-upmanship with each other."

"In truth," Harry said calmly, "I rarely think about you at all, Malfoy."

Draco quirked a smile. "Good, so a truce should be easy for you. We are both Lords now Potter, we have more important things to get on with."

"I agree." Harry said calmly. He leveled his green gaze on Draco and the silver eyed boy met the stare with aplomb. Harry frowned after a second and Draco smiled.

"You aren't the only one who learned something new over the summer." He said in a chilly voice. He held Harry's eyes for a second more before turning to leave the room.

"Dammit Harry." Ron yelled. "Don't tell me you trust that sodding ferret! This is Draco Bloody Malfoy we're talking about. He pledged dire revenge on you last year, remember? He wants to Kill you. Did you forget that?"

"No, I haven't forgotten Ron." Harry said in a harsh tone. He turned to face his oldest friend and the redhead was unable to meet his flinty jade gaze. "And I don't know who the bloody hell that was, but it wasn't Draco Malfoy. Until I figure out who that is, we aren't doing anything."

* * *

_Hogwarts—the great hall_

"--I heard he was dying--"

"Curses that can't be healed—"

"—Professor Snape is going to take over his duties—"

"—I heard McGonagall—"

"Professor Dumbledore can't die, he's the greatest wizard ever—"

"I'll never believe it—"

Words of fear and faith danced in the air around Bellatrix and the rest of the group as they sat through the sorting, but the disguised former Death Eater ignored it all. She liked the aged wizard and had a soft spot for him, as did most of the wizards and witches who had gone through Hogwarts under his tutelage. There was something serene and benevolent about him, it was difficult not to stand in awe of the silver-haired wizard, even when you disagreed with him. He was powerful, pureblooded, and ancient—everything that garnered respect in the Wizarding world, and yet time and time again he rejected positions of leadership and influence far greater than Headmaster of the wizard school. Bellatrix had liked him in her youth, and even well into her foray with dark magic. It had been the poisoned words of Voldemort that finally sounded the death knell of her affection for the wizard many called the second coming of Merlin. She had seen how old he had appeared during their first meeting at Harry's house, seen the pain and fatigue which dulled the glimmer and laughter in his eyes. It had struck her then like physical blows that she had never seen him looking so weak—so mortal.

He looked even worse now. He had lost weight during the previous month—so much that his robes hung loosely off his large frame. His beard seemed whiter, as if events had aged him more than time ever could. Worst of all, his left hand was completely wrapped in bandages, and he moved with an aching slowness Bellatrix had never seen him demonstrate before. Still, when he spoke his words were powerful, his humor shining through as strongly as ever when he announced that there would be a Valentine's Day ball this year to make up for the reduced Hogsmeade visits. He was the same Dumbledore, just one that was wearier than she had ever seen him.

At any other time she would be as sick with worry as the rest of the school, but she couldn't concentrate on her concerns over the old man. Other worries gnawed at her, cruel words spoken in innocence echoed in her thoughts.

_Name'sNeville Longbottomby the way_

Azkaban had stolen much of the joy from her life, joy that she was only slowly rediscovering. But it was a fragile thing—this new joy of hers—and her meeting with Neville Longbottom had reduced it to ash.

Without effort, she could call to mind images of Frank and Alice Longbottom, could still hear their cries of pain, their agony as they lay before her twitching and writhing beneath her curse. The pleasure that she taken from breaking them now sickened her. She had been so lost, the dark arts having rotted away most of her soul. All she could feel was a dull sadistic exhilaration at the way their bodies moved and twisted at her command.

She saw the scars she had left in Frank and Alice in Neville, in the unsure way he spoke, the way he couldn't meet her eyes when they talked, the way he disparaged himself. They were the hallmark of a person who had never learned his own worth, who couldn't remember the boundless love of his parents.

He worshiped Harry. She could see it in the way that Neville hung on Harry's every word. He and Harry had embraced in the Great Hall when the two had finally run into each other, and Harry had told him that he should walk with his head held high because of his accomplishments in the Department of Mysteries. The boy had blushed crimson when a few pretty girls eyed him speculatively after Harry's public declaration.

Shame was something Bellatrix was unaccustomed to. She was a pureblood, one of the most magically powerful women born to one of the most magically powerful families in the entire world. She had been taught from birth that she was above lesser wizards, and a titan compared to muggles. Voldemort had fed that ego when he personally tutored her in advanced dark arts. Even in Azkaban, the dementors had only sucked away her happiness, not her self-satisfaction, and in her cold, damp room it kept her sane for fifteen years.

After her youth was restored to her, Bellatrix had vowed to become a better person, to not fall into the habits of dark magic which had so eroded her humanity. She still believed in pureblooded superiority, but she no longer desired to bully muggles or slay them. She imagined a new life for herself, and in what now seemed like pathetic self-delusion she believed that all she needed to do was to live better in the now and her past wouldn't matter anymore.

Face-to-face with a child of her sins, she realized how wrong her naive belief had been. She could never atone for her sins. A thousand good years wouldn't make up for all the children with no parents, parents with no children, and families that she had so casually torn asunder with the power she had wielded so callously from her wand tip.

Bellatrix watched as Neville shyly smiled at her, and an irresistible urge to hurt something rose up in her.

Mostly herself.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Harry asked respectfully.

He walked into Dumbledore's cramped office and sat down before the old wizard's desk. He looked around the room, the last time he'd been in here he had been far too distracted to pay careful attention to his surroundings. The office was a testament to a life lived long, and lived well.

Shelves groaned beneath the weight of ancient books, strange objects and machines filled the corners of the room, gathering dust. A mages staff lay propped against a shelf behind Dumbledore, and exotic silver instruments whizzed and hummed quietly on the old man's desk. A crystal ball set on a claw-footed silver stand next to an old book with dusty, yellowing pages. Dumbledore quietly observed Harry.

"I fixed all that you destroyed when last we met here." The old wizard finally said.

"So I see."

Dumbledore sighed. "Still so distant, Harry? I had hoped we were moving beyond this."

"We have." Harry admitted. "It's just taking some time."

"I heard of your recent incident in France. Have you and the others recovered fully?" Dumbledore asked solicitously.

Harry nodded. "We have. Nobody besides Ron was hurt badly, and Luna was able to heal him quickly.

"She's becoming quite adept with Internal Alchemy." Dumbledore agreed. "An art that has always fascinated me."

"Ask her to teach it to you." Harry rejoined. "I'm sure she'd be flattered."

"You performed several ritual magics." Dumbledore noted. "I can see the effects of sensory and physical prowess enhancing rituals. You did not perform any power increasing rituals, did you?"

Harry shuddered. "I found copies of what they require. No, I don't think we'll be doing those. The others were fine, just expensive and I can afford the ingredients for my group."

"How are the girls? Adjusting to their new age?"

"They're also fine." Harry said frowning. "And you're stalling. Ask me the question you've summoned me here to ask, please."

Dumbledore gave a thin smile. "Very well, I shall dispense with the small talk and get to the point. You have done well for yourself. My agents in Order tell me that the Black Family has roused itself to tremendous effect. Regardless, you play a dangerous game Harry. Many great families have seen brought about their destruction in wars against Dark Lords. You risk Sirius' legacy."

Harry leaned back. He felt a gentle probe against his mind. Drawing on his training, Harry instantly erected a shield, protecting his thoughts from the old wizard. Dumbledore raised a craggy eyebrow. "You have grown stronger, my boy. Much stronger."

"Yes, I have." Harry growled. "Did you call me in here to lecture me? Because I have long since outgrown the wide-eyed boy you could dazzle with your Merlin act. You aren't all-knowing and you certainly aren't perfect."

"Neither are you, Harry." Dumbledore said strongly. "Neither are you. And I have the benefits of more than a century and a half of experience to guide my actions."

"Then help me!" Harry cried out frustratedly. "I can't do this on my own. I barely got the families to even go along with my plans. I've been flying by the seat of my broom all month. Stop lecturing and help me. Please!"

Dumbledore sat back. "When I allowed you into the Order meeting, I believed that information was all that you desired. Then I find out that you have taken the Black Family to war."

"I'm not the only one going to war." Harry said with a meaningful glance at the old wizard's bandaged hand.

"It is better for me to go to battle than for you, Harry." Dumbledore said quietly. "You are young and have a long life ahead of you. I've fought Dark Lords before, and paid terrible prices. Let me shield you with my experience—for just a little while longer."

"You can't protect me, Headmaster." Harry answered in a weary tone. "Teach me so that I can protect myself. Be the man who gave me a time turner and the trust to use it, and not the man who couldn't even look me in the eye for a year."

The old wizard nodded, looking a thousand years older. "You've always been an impressive boy, Harry." He said with a small, sad smile. "Somehow I just never realized that you've since become an impressive young man. You shall have more than my aid; I shall make you my apprentice and initiate you in the hidden mysteries of the light."

* * *

Bellatrix got her chance to hurt something a little while later.

The Great Hall rapidly emptied of students as the prefects led the first years and older students back to their respective dorms. Harry had left during the meal, having received a message that Dumbledore wished to speak with him privately. Narcissa had walked off with the other Gryffindors, leaving Bellatrix behind.

The newly young Gryffindor meandered towards the tower, in no hurry to join the other students. She sought quiet so she could think and absorb the day's events and, more importantly, master her guilt so that she didn't collapse and beg forgiveness of Neville within the first five minutes of being in the common room.

The rest of the group had disappeared, and she was navigating a moving staircase when she heard something. For unaugmented ears, it would have been too quiet to discern, but Bellatrix, who had participated in a sense-enhancing ritual only the month before, was able to hear enough to catch her attention.

"—it over, Colin—"

"Every year… my parents—"

"Stop complaining mudblood… little brother… protection—"

Bellatrix turned her head and peered down the hallway the sounds were coming from. Her eyes picked out two figures in the darkness. Taking a few steps forward, the figures resolved themselves and she could see a pair of boys in the darkness. The first was slight, and pressed against the stone wall of the passage. He was fine boned and delicate, with the sort of boyish prettiness that made girls swoon and boys mutter. His large eyes were wide with fear and he quavered against the wall as the second boy held him roughly there with one hand. The other boy was larger and slightly bulkier, although far from large. He had deeply set eyes and a prominent nose, and his dark hair was closely cropped against his skull, transforming his lean face into a frightening mien in the shadows.

Bellatrix blinked. For a second she thought she was staring at Pieter Nott, an older Death Eater who worked for Voldemort and had managed to escape Azkaban by pleading the Imperio defense. It wasn't until the Pieter clone turned to face her that she realized the person standing before her was far too young to be the dangerous criminal.

"Who are you?" he spat. "Can't you see I'm conducting business here?"

Bellatrix paused for a moment. "You're Pieter's boy, aren't you?" she said as she moved close.

"Please, you have to help me. He's taking my spending money for the year." The younger boy whimpered.

"You shut up." Turning back to Bellatrix, the boy introduced himself. "Theodore Nott. And you're one of Dumbledore's nieces aren't you. One of the twins?"

Bellatrix was amused to notice that he sounded more intrigued than bothered at being caught by her. "Something like that." She plastered a cunning smile on her face. "What are you doing?" she asked while moving still closer.

"Colin here" he said, jerking his thumb toward the captive boy "needs to pay his annual toll for being allowed in the presence of purebloods." Theodore answered back arrogantly. "The little mudblood has to learn that there is always someone bigger and badder around."

Bellatrix had closed the distance between them and smiled at Theodore. "I couldn't agree more." she purred. Bursting into a blur of action, she slammed Theodore into the wall beside the younger boy—_Colin_, she corrected mentally. Caught off guard by the change of events, Theodore went for his wand but Bellatrix casually slapped it away with the hand she wasn't using to hold him against the wall.

"You're right. There is always someone bigger and badder around, and in Hogwarts that's Me." she finished in a menacing growl, shaking him slightly for emphasis. "How much have you taken from him?" When the pureblood refused to answer, Bellatrix squeezed his neck. The cold of Azkaban descended over her and she stared at him with the flat, dead eyes of sociopath. "Talk, or I will kill you and feed your dead body to the thestrals." She said grimly.

"Six… sixty… maybe… seventy galleons. His pocket money for the year for past three years." Theodore wheezed. He could barely speak through the viselike grip of Bellatrix's hand.

"You are going to pay him back. Every Knut. With Interest. Are we understood?" She punctuated each sentence by squeezing tighter and shaking his neck, slamming the back of his head against the cold stone of the hallway. In the end, the formerly tough boy could only nod meekly. "And if I ever hear about you bothering any of the Gryffindors again, you will meet with an unfortunate accident—a painful, unfortunate accident—and the Nott line will end with you, you worthless little thinblood."

Theodore dropped the money and disappeared so fast Bellatrix almost thought he might have apparated. She picked up the coins and turned, handing them to Colin. "Are you okay?" she asked in a kind tone.

Colin blushed and looked away, nodding very slightly and trying to maintain his composure. "I'm fine." He answered weakly.

"What happened?"

Colin stuttered out an answer. "My… umm… little brother… Dennis? He… he got in a fight with Peter Parkinson, Pansy's little brother. Dennis got him pretty good with an embarrassing hex in public." His voice grew stronger as he told the story. "Theodore told me afterwards that Parkinson asked him to hurt Dennis, but he was willing to lay off him if he had some… incentive… was how he put it."

"How very Slytherin of him." Bellatrix noted with more than a little sarcasm.

"I tried to duel him, but he was better than me." Colin admitted with a sniffle. "So I paid him. Every year since my third I've given him money so he would leave me and my brother alone." A few tears slipped from the corner of his eyes despite a valiant effort to keep them hidden. "I fought him again last year—'cause Harry tutored us. I thought I could take him but I couldn't. Again."

"Why didn't you tell Harry?" Bellatrix asked. "He would have helped you."

"Because… because I'm stupid." Colin said angrily. "I'm the worst Gryffindor ever! Because he's Harry Potter and he has bigger things than me to worry about and I should be able to take care of my little brother." Colin slid down against the wall and dropped his head into his hands. "Because I'm a stupid mudblood and I deserve what I get." he finished softly.

"Don't call yourself that." Bellatrix snapped. "Harry would have been happy to help you. That's what he does, trust me on that." The tall girl dropped down next to Colin and leaned back against the same wall. "If he ever bothers you again, come see me right away and I'll sort him out. The same goes for your little brother, or any of the younger years. Spread the word that the Baby Lions are off limits." she said in a fierce tone.

Colin nodded.

"As for being a bad Gryffindor, don't worry about it. You'll have your moment. Trust the Sorting Hat and you'll find your bravery."

"Thanks." Colin whispered. "I don't even know your name."

"Marie Dumbledore." Bellatrix said confidently. "Your new housemate."

* * *

_Somewhere in Romania_

The woman was ancient.

Her face was folded and creased with age lines. A withered tongue rasped over shriveled lips and yellowed nubs that were all that remained of her teeth. A brightly patterned shawl and heavy peasant dress covered her emaciated body, and wisps of white hair like tufts of cotton poked out from beneath a faded red bandana. Knobbed hands covered in blue veins slowly shuffled a deck of cards. With the unconscious skill borne from a lifetime of practice, she spread the painted deck across the purple-veiled table. Filmy eyes sought out patterns that only a gypsy could see in the cards. With painfully slow movements the old gypsy looked upward as a figure in black robes ducked into her tent. He was right on time—as she had known he would be. The cards had been speaking to her for days.

"A tad theatrical, wouldn't you say." The black garbed figure said dryly.

"You are one to talk Voldemort." The aged gypsy wheezed with a dry cackle.

The black-robed figure pulled back his hood revealing a pallid flat nosed face with gleaming serpentine eyes of ruby. Glancing quickly around the room he took the seat in front of her small table. "Little Grandmother," he hissed, "You know why I have come."

The old woman nodded. "You seek the wisdom of the cards." she whispered. "You wish to know if you tread the path to victory or defeat."

Voldemort said nothing, patiently staring at the woman before of him. Silently, he removed a pouch from his a sleeve and laid it on the table. The sack fell open and several thumbnail-sized blood red stones tumbled free.

"Blood gems. Expensive." The old woman pushed them away with a gouty hand. "And pointless. What use is such to me? Shall I purchase a few handsome boys to keep my bed warm in my dotage, do you suppose?" she cackled. "No, there is something else I wish from you."

"Name your price, hag." Voldemort spat.

"My clan." She said in a low voice. "A war is coming. The _Purrun_, my clan. They must survive. I would have your wizard's oath that you and yours will leave my gypsies alone. I would have us spared and a place found in your new order, should you prove victorious."

"What ever happened to the vaunted gypsy neutrality?" Voldemort asked dryly.

She smiled, revealing a mouth filled with more gaps than teeth. "We are still neutral. If Dumbledore or Harry Potter came seeking the wisdom of the cards, I would extract the same promise from them. We, are above all else, survivors. We have endured pogroms, inquisitions, and gas chambers. We will endure this as well."

"You shall have it." Voldemort said. He drew his wand and hissed a few words in Parseltongue.

Black flame wreathed around his wrist and slithered away to coil around the old woman's arm. She calmly stared at the serpent of cold fire as it sank its fangs beneath her skin. She shuddered slightly but nodded when the rite was completed. She passed the deck of cards to him. "Shuffle." she commanded.

Voldemort gave the cards a few perfunctory shuffles with his slender fingers. The old woman took her cards back and fanned them out on her table. "Destiny follows you, Voldemort. You are a central thread in the grand tapestry. I see you standing victorious—but not yet victorious—over the body of a Lord of Light. I see the aged and infirm marching to war. Three dragons breathing madness and death. Ashes and prophecies dancing on razor wire. You seek Apotheosis. Such is within your grasp. I see a world in which you are man and god, ruling over an empire of blood and pain for ten thousand generations. I see Bacchanal, mutilated angels as dancing girls, and vast harems of Succubi and Ernyies. Statues of Basalt raised in your honor, and humanity living and dying at your slightest whim."

The gypsy moaned. "No! I see other paths! Defeat lies in your cards as well. Beings of such power exist that can destroy you descending to the Earth on wings of obsidian and alabaster. I see a great Lord of Light wielding daggers, one of silvered steel and the other black glass. They slash your flesh and spill your blood. Moonlight carries the whispers of your demise and the twin flames shall duel their very natures to find the strength to defy you. The maimed follow in your footsteps and performs a ballet on swords. I see a golden age of humanity where all people wield the twin forces of magic and science. Ills are mended all the races of the world come together in harmony to explore the multiverse. The names of those you hate shall be exalted as Gods on a hundred worlds, while you are forgotten except as a footnote in books and cautionary tales."

The crone looked up and met Voldemort's serpentine gaze. Winded from the force of the visions she continued to speak. "Your great strength and your great weakness are one and the same." She said in a paper thin voice. "You are a solitary being. You have no equals, no confidants. Your allies are enemies in the waiting. You shall betray them before they betray you. Yet you have no ties, no pathways to exploitation. You can use that against your enemies. You are a master of fear Voldemort; that is how you will obtain victory. Fear paralyzes. It strickens and weakens those who might otherwise bring you low. Even your greatest enemies know doubt and fear. Prey on that. Find that which terrifies them and use that to crush them. Success will be yours if you follow that advice."

Voldemort leaned back. The Dark Lord lowered his eyes as he considered all that the gypsy had told him. "You took me in once." he said quietly, changing the subject. "Why? Gypsies have magic enough to destroy even me."

"Do you know what _Purrun_ means?"

Voldemort smiled. A rare moment of genuine amusement and not malevolence. "I believe it means onion."

"A common name." The old gypsy woman called Little Grandmother cackled as she explained. "And one that fits well with my people. Onions have many layers and so do we." Her voice fell to a barely audible whisper. "You are a singular creation Tom Riddle." You have gone beyond what any wizard in history has done. Neither the princes of Atlantis nor the founders of Hogwarts have dared what you have. That deserves respect. And the cards have told me that you will be catalyst for great change no matter the outcome. I have seen many things in all my years and I wish to see one more." The woman looked down and stared at her twisted hands. "I am old, but I am not yet ready to give up on life."

"The game is yet beginning."

* * *

Leave a review please. It means a lot

And no, for the record, Ginny is not a vampire and I don't want to portray her as a slut, I want to portray her as a damaged young woman reacting in a very bad way to trauma. She'll even out through the story.

Well, unless I want her to get worse. She can always get worse :)


	10. Gray Daze

The Redemption of the Black Sisters Chapter 10  
Phoenixgod2000

Authors note: Once again, thanks to Sean Melton, He who makes me suck less

* * *

The Grand Hall of the Hundred Families rested in an unplottable valley in the Swiss Alps, a place removed from muggle sight since the time of the Pharaohs.

The ancient keep, out of place among the Mountain Pine, was an architectural impossibility. Not for it's size—though the grey stone construction was impressively large—nor for the score of delicate spires twisting improbably to the heavens, or even for the vast dome of white slate covering the squat body of the edifice. Indeed, the peculiarity of the structure lay not in its arrangement, but rather in its seemingly tenuous perch along the face of a sheer cliff.

Not the grandest or even the oldest of the meeting places in use by the families that quietly directed the Wizarding World, it was the one most often employed for the Great Balls and events that dominated the social calendar of the august body of Wizards and Witches.

If the outside of the castle was austere, the interior was anything but. Those privileged enough to visit castle bore witness to the collected wealth of the greatest wizard families since the fall of Atlantis that filled each corridor and room.

The treasures were endless: Priceless paintings and living statues of ancient and powerful wizard icons, breathtaking in the perfection of their craftsmanship, safeguarded the animated suits of adamantine armor patrolling the hallways. Living wood, hewn from powerful and forgotten magic, formed furniture that grew and shifted to perfectly fit each body that used them. Hothouse gardens containing fruits and flowers thought extinct for millennia—and several that muggles had never been aware of in the first place.

It was a world of ostentatious finery infused with the air of ancient wealth. It was flagrant magic, created for no better reason than the whim and comfort of those fortunate few allowed beholding its sights.

* * *

Bellatrix Black and Harry Potter lingered in the entry hall of the Grand Ballroom, waiting for their turn to be announced by the keep's ancient castellan into the Fall Equinox Ball. Although it was but one of the four great balls held annually by the Hundred Families, as the newly minted Scion of the Black Family Harry could ill afford to miss the gathering. Bellatrix had only shrugged when Narcissa had corralled her into going as Harry's date, citing her lie to Monique about Bellatrix and Lord Black's supposed relationship—but Bellatrix had seen the look in her sister's eyes. Narcissa didn't trust herself with Harry. Regardless, a ball was a ball. Bellatrix hadn't had the opportunity to attend one since childhood, and going with Harry would only make it more amusing.

Behind them, Monique Black waited in an indecent black dress, her arm entwined around her brother's waist. The brother was as handsome as his sister was beautiful; possessed of the same wavy hair and olive skin. He was tall and broad shouldered and his perfectly sculpted muscles were barely hidden in his tailored dress robes. The difference was in their eyes; while Monique was intelligent as well as stunning, the vacant look his eyes told Bellatrix that the brother was less than an intellectual giant.

Behind the brother and sister pair stood a second set of siblings. While Ron and Ginevra Weasley lacked the blatant physical charms of the Blacks, they were rapidly growing into their own. Ron, standing tall in fitted robes borrowed from Harry, had filled out over months of training with hard muscle that had melted much of the childishness from his face. If not for the goofy grin that he was trying vainly to conceal, he might have cut quite the intimidating figure. Ginny looked stunning, as well. The petite redhead was ravishing in a green gown of spider silk finished a white fur wrap around her shoulders and arms. It was a gown worth more than what her father made in a month of work, and she looked like she could definitely become accustomed to that level of wealth.

The four Blacks and their two guests comprised the entirety of the Black Family delegation to ceremonial ball. Harry had invited Monique to enlist her support against the Family's on behalf of his choice to replace Dominique Black—a French half-veela related to the Blacks on her father's side. Bellatrix knew that move would be unpopular with the purebloods.

The withered castellan motioned for Harry's group to step forward. Leaning heavily on his Staff of Office, he signaled with his free hand, bringing Monique and her brother forward. Bellatrix observed bemusedly as he passed his staff over their bodies, murmuring spells that would uncover unauthorized magic. The former dark witch idly wondered what would happen if he actually discovered any. He looked frail enough that she could snap him in half if she had half a mind to.

Once he was satisfied that the Black siblings weren't a threat, he stepped back and announced them with a surprisingly strong voice. "Introducing the Lady Monique Sanguinia Borgia Black and Lord Anjelo Mario Borgia Black." he cried out.

Polite applause filled the room as the pair made their way into the grand party.

"I don't trust them." Bellatrix whispered to Harry.

"Neither do I," Harry said with a sigh. This was an _old_ argument between them. "I made her my voice on the council in exchange for her support in making Fleur's mother the new Family Head of French branch. After Dominique's death I needed a Family Head beholden to just me. Despite being a half-veela, Fleur's mother fits. The Pure's didn't like a half breed taking over the family, so this was a little bribe to keep the peace."

"But how do you know she'll vote as you like?" Bellatrix asked.

Harry shrugged. "That's what I have your sister for. She knows the ins and outs of this place and she'll keep me apprised of Monique's activities."

After a lackluster announcement for Ron and Ginny the old Castellan motioned to Harry and Bellatrix. He checked them with surprising economy of motion and moved briskly to the doorway to announce them.

"Ladies and Gentleman of the One Hundred Families, I bring forth one of your number" he cried out. "The head of House Black, The Boy Who Lived, I present to you the Honorable Lord Harry James Potter and his consort, Marie Annabelle Genève Dumbledore."

The room stilled, and Harry's smile became stiff smile as he sensed the hundreds of pairs of calculating eyes descending upon him. Looking out across the ballroom, Harry sensed the conflicting emotions wrought by his arrival: curiosity, distrust, and even disdain echoed in eyes of every color set in faces of every description. Bearded Bedouins with bright desert robes and coppery skinned Efreeti harem girls, dark faces with bone piercings and masks fringed with lion's mane, red-skinned natives adorned in cloaks of emerald feathers and loin wrappings of leopard skin, Asian witches from the empire of Jade fanning themselves with ivory wands while Eunuchs served magic teas and enchanted infusions in golden chalices… endless diversity, the extraordinary alongside the mundane, all observing Harry closely as he descended the staircase, all judging in silence.

Harry scanned the crowd, seeing precious few European faces and even fewer traditional dress robes. Already feeling like an interloper, Harry's sense of unease swelled as he realized that the greatest wizards and most ancient families of the world assembled here included few westerners.

For an instant Harry was the small boy again, the orphan who had grown up unloved and without friends, who had never belonged. Harry froze, filled with doubt. What was he doing here? This wasn't his world, these weren't his people. He'd grown up in a cupboard and he couldn't be here, pretending that he was one of them, that he belonged. They would know…

"Breathe, Potter." Bellatrix whispered. "You're the Boy Who Lived, the boy who faced down Voldemort. You can do this. This is the easy part." Opening her link slightly, she sent serenity down it into Harry.

Feeling far more calm than he had a second earlier, Harry wrapped his arm around his consort's waist and descended the rest of the way down the great staircase into the ballroom. Leaning in close, he uttered a whispered "Thank you" into her ear.

No matter how calm she made him, at that moment Harry would have given anything to be back training with Dumbledore.

* * *

_One Month earlier_

Harry Potter was glowing. Not in the sense that the long hours spent outdoors had given his skin a pleasant, ruddy hue, and not in the figurative sense of the pride inherent with accomplishing a particularly difficult feat of new magic, although he felt that as well.

Harry was currently incandescent, a silvery luminescence radiating from his skin and pouring forth from his eyes. Harry sat easily on the bare stone floor of the small, round room, while his light reflected softly off the rough walls, pulsing slightly with each beat of his heart. Silver fire burned atop candles located around him in the cardinal positions, Dumbledore kneeling behind him, his whispered words carrying easily despite his low voice.

"Tom once told you that the distinctions between Light and Dark magic were irrelevant, that it was only Power which mattered. This, as is the case with much of what Tom believes, is only partly true. While raw power is a key component to all great works of magic, the essence of Light magic is the same as that powers the Dark. What separates Light from Dark, Worthy from Disgraceful, is the emotion involved and the intent of the caster.

A light wizard dwells not on hatred, avarice, or the other sins that afflict man; rather he uses his love, compassion, humility, and generosity to power his Art. Dark wizards twist their gifts for their own benefit. Dark magic consumes the soul, while Light ennobles it.

You shall become kinder and more centered with every step you take along this path. You will learn that the greatest joys come not from filling your own desires but in the service of others. For in them are your own appetites satiated." Dumbledore smiled at the glowing boy. "What you are experiencing now is called the Light of Heaven. Allow it to fill you, work through you. Do not force it and it with strengthen all of your magic when your intentions are pure and your aims are noble."

"But how can the Light battle the Dark?" Harry wondered from his position on the floor. "The Light doesn't have anything like the Imperius or the killing curse."

The old wizard smiled indulgently. "Perhaps you cannot cause injury as easily with Light magic, but you will find Harry that the side of good is not without resources."

"Like what?"

"A wizard possessed of adequate power and the proper focus can heal grievous injuries, sense the bonds of love and trust between people, or lack thereof, and make use of the magic resulting from such bonds. He could banish demons or destroy the undead. It is said that truly great masters can recall souls lost to the Dementor's Kiss or even destroy the vile creatures." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Let me finish by saying that your mother was my one of my finest students and look at what she was able to accomplish."

"She still died, Headmaster." Harry said bitterly.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Yes Harry, she did. But before she died, she called upon ancient Light magic and saved her son from an unbeatable curse. That is a good lesson for you to learn: every piece of truly great magic—Light or Dark—requires sacrifice. Even the mightiest power is not without price."

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, before continuing to call the Light into his core.

Some time later, Dumbledore called out "That's enough, Harry. You've done quite well for a beginner."

The glow slowly faded from the Boy Who Lived and Dumbledore lifted him to his feet with his one good hand. "Harry? I wonder if you could indulge an old man his curiosity?"

"Headmaster?"

"Did you drink the Animagus potion and perform the rituals?"

Harry smiled, his green eyes twinkling slightly. "Yeah, we all did—except for Claire. She said that she didn't want to invite the animal into her soul."

Dumbledore humphed impatiently. "And?"

Harry's grin grew. "I won't tell you what the others are," he said, "But I'm something like a horse. I'd show you, but this place is a little too small for me to change and I'd have absolutely no room to stretch my wings" he added with a smirk.

"That is a tease truly unworthy of a Light wizard." Dumbledore said with a little laugh.

"Probably." Harry acknowledged. "Headmaster, there is something I've been wondering about."

When Dumbledore nodded his assent to the question, Harry continued. "What happened to your hand, sir," he asked, motioning at the wizards ruined appendage.

"Ahh," Dumbledore said. "I had wondered when you would get to that nut. Truthfully, I expected it sooner." With a wave of his wand he conjured a pair of chairs for his and Harry's use.

"I have discovered how Voldemort kept himself alive after you blasted him bodiless." The old wizard removed his glasses wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose before replacing them. Staring off at nothing, he continued. "Some years ago, I attempted to teach Tom the same magic that you are currently learning, Harry. He came to us so angry, so bitter over his life, but with so much promise. He had already gained such great control over his core I thought to challenge him and create someone who might one day be my successor. My efforts were…unsuccessful."

"That's not your fault Professor."

Dumbledore smiled wearily. "No… perhaps not. And yet my guilt is undiminished. I taught him great and powerful secrets, secrets that he perverted. You see Harry; the nature of the universe is based in harmony, the yin and the yang, the ebb and the flow. So it is that every Light spell has a Dark counterpart. The magic I taught him to use to preserve, to heal, he twisted into the spells he needed to create dark vessels for fragments of his soul." Dumbledore spoke grimly, the words clearly hurting him. "Other dark wizards have made them, certainly most of the Black Circle will have fragmented their soul, but no one has ever dared what Tom Riddle did. He divided his soul into seven pieces, seven pieces that he carved off with murder and the blackest of Dark arts. He secreted them in various locations and concealed them behind powerful protections. Only when all of them are destroyed can Voldemort be truly slain. I destroyed the first such talisman that I have managed to locate, a ring once owned by Salazar Slytherin."

Unwrapping his bandaged hand, he showed it to Harry. It was a twisted wreck. Each blackened, rotting, withered finger was curled towards the palm. The old man grimaced and tried to flex the hand and each finger moved slightly. "Severus has managed to stop the rot before it spread past my wrist, but I am afraid that the hand is lost."

"Then why haven't you, you know…" Harry made a chopping motion.

"I have become quite attached to my hand—so to speak—and I continue to hope that I can one day restore it to at least partial use." Dumbledore said. "What worries me more are the other Horcruxes. Who knows what magic Voldemort has employed to protect them?"

"I can help," Harry said gravely as Dumbledore carefully rewrapped his appendage. "If you send me the information you have on the remaining Horcruxes, I can have the Black family search for them."

"I think I should like that very much." The old wizard said tiredly.

* * *

_Currently_

Harry continued to feel uneasy beneath the weight the attention. He could practically feel his scar turning red at all the attention. Bellatrix tightened her grip on his arm.

"No running off now." She whispered. "It'll pass."

She was right. Soon after he made his way towards Monique and Ron, the ball carried on and the quiet hum of conversations resumed.

"That was an introduction, mate." Ron said with a wide grin. "Got everyone to notice you."

"Exactly what I wanted." Harry replied sarcastically.

"Now that you're the Head of the one of the Hundred Families, you're going to have to get over being the center of attention." Bellatrix chided.

"I know that." Harry looked around. "Where did Ginny get to, anyway?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. She took off right after we got introduced. She's gone right spare since the beginning of school. Won't show anyone her form, won't hardly talk to anybody unless it's about war plans."

"I don't want her running off. She could get into trouble." Harry said.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Bellatrix said. "We need to go over the plans again. This isn't a social occasion."

"Yes it is," Ginny said as she rejoined the group, a glass of rich red wine in her hand.

"Nice of you to join us Ginny." Bellatrix said.

"Wasn't it, though?"

"Enough." Harry ordered. He turned to Bellatrix. "Does everybody remember what they need to do tonight?"

Narcissa had developed the plan for the evening, and everybody knew their role. Monique and her brother needed to determine out if any of the Hundred Families are supporters of Voldemort, Harry needed to be seen and to begin networking and developing some badly needed allies, and Ron and Bellatrix's main job for the evening was protecting Harry from assassination attempts.

Ron nodded, his smile vanishing at the thought of someone killing Harry.

Harry turned to the last member of his party. "Ginny? Are you ready?" Her task was probably the most difficult, but she had argued successfully that with her low profile and lack of social status she was unlikely to be missed while she ventured into the archives below the mansion. The Black libraries had provided depressingly little useful information on the Black Circle or on Horcruxes.

Ginny finished the wine in one long gulp. "You know it, should be a walk in the park." Her red lips parted momentarily in amusement and she threw Harry a saucy wink. "Just remember to spring me from Azkaban if I get caught."

Setting the glass down, the redheaded witch disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

_A few days earlier_

Luna Lovegood strolled into the mass of students, moving between people while confidently displaying her badge. Her moon-hued eyes surveyed the younger students, most of whom were trying to hide guilty looks from the Prefect.

"What is going on?" Luna asked in a characteristically breezy voice. She met the eyes of the first and second year students, noting that they seemed to consist of only Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

The group parted, revealing a skinny girl with pallid flesh, large sunken eyes, and limp blond hair. Luna recognized Tamara O'Malley, one of the serfs that had paid to send to Hogwarts. The girl, clutching a book to her thin chest, hesitantly walked towards Luna while blinking back tears.

"They were chasing me," she whispered in a quiet voice. "They didn't like that Professor Snape complimented me on my potion."

"He's always compliment…" one of the Slytherin boy's began to shout out, only to have Luna quietly meet his gaze. His tirade sputtered against the calm gaze of the prefect.

"Please continue." Luna motioned.

"This class was abandoned and I wanted to go inside so I could block the door. But the door was locked and they crowded around me. Then you came."

Luna looked at the group. "Jealousy is an ugly thing. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Voldemort has returned. Now is a time to stand together, not a time to tear each other apart. Five points from each of you."

The student's eyes widened as they looked around at each other guiltily, quickly trying to tally the points lost and wondering how their houses would react. Luna noticed that several of the Slytherins were still shooting her defiant looks. She drew the young girl behind her and motioned for them to leave with her wand, the threat of further defiance clear. After they left, she knelt down and looked the young girl in the eye.

"Are you really okay?" She asked. "There's no shame in finding help if you need it."

Tamara shook her head. "I'm fine. Really." She insisted. "I only got scared when I couldn't open the classroom. It's normally where I go to get privacy and study." She looked down. "They don't like me much in the dorms."

Luna smiled softly. "They don't like me much either. You'll find friends," she comforted. "Friends who will like you for who you are."

"You really think so?"

"You already have one."

The girl flashed Luna a genuine smile, revealing for a brief instant the potential beauty that lay hidden beneath the small girl's plain countenance and shy demeanor. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she rushed away with a new bounce in her step. Luna watched her, thinking wryly that more than a few of those boys would live to regret being so unkind to the little girl. Ugly ducklings didn't remain so forever.

After Tamara left, the young prefect stared at the door. It shouldn't have been locked, Tamara was right about that. The only doors at Hogwarts that were locked were the living quarters and places used to store dangerous supplies. Lifting her wand she incanted and beams of light glowed around the edges.

A spell.

Frowning, Luna cast a dispelling charm. The spell on the door resisted and Luna poured more energy into the spell, until it gave way and the door practically blew open. Luna stepped inside.

"You might have just knocked, you know." Draco Malfoy said blandly while he stood from where he knelt.

The young lord had removed his robes and stripped off his shirt, leaving him bare chested, wearing only the dress pants that all male students wore beneath their robes.

The weight loss he had experienced was even more obvious with his shirt off. Pale ivory skin stretched translucently over a frame that lacked hair or any hint of fat. It might have been attractive to Luna if it hadn't been so extreme.

His voice, placid as it was, was belied by his burning silver eyes.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I'm not breaking any rules Lovegood, so I don't see how it's any business of yours." Draco snapped.

Luna glanced around the room. What was he doing here? She saw a few ritual implements, but it didn't look like he had done anything, yet. There was something else…

He wasn't alone, Luna realized with a start. But where was his co-conspirator? She waved her wand around the room and muttered a spell, but it revealed nothing.

"You need to leave Draco. Now." She ordered in an uncharacteristically firm voice.

The Slytherin grinned at her sardonically. "Oh yes, great prefect, I bow before the power of your mighty badge." Casually raising a hand, his robe and shirt leapt into his grip.

Luna was impressed, in spite of herself. Wandless magic like that was not easy and he had done it very casually. She watched him cautiously as he slowly dressed in order to make sure that he did nothing untoward.

Finally finished, he gathered his things and departed, leaving Luna alone in the room. _There is someone here_ her inner voice whispered to her, in her mother's dulcet tone.

In the blink of an eye, Luna was gone and in her place stood a small cat with a long, whip-like tail. Its coat was double layered and smooth, like an otter painted like molten silver. A pair of butterfly wings with a runic spiral patterns unfurled wetly from her back. Wide blue eyes looked around with new vision. A single leap took the cat from the floor to an unoccupied desk, its tail slashing through the air as she creature surveyed the room. Whiskers of Platinum twitched, tasting the air.

Luna's Animagus form was a Tressrym, a type of winged cat that had a number of magical powers. Tressrym could sense magic and pierce illusions. They were wise and strong and although rare, intelligent wizards made them familiars when they could.

Light filled the room, banishing the dark shadows and illuminating every corner, yet no one appeared. With an angry hiss, the cat jumped down and Luna stood near the table, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. It was a surprising look from the normally unflappable girl, but one that eminently fit her mood.

Someone was still here, but nothing she had done could reveal the perpetrator. Taking one last look around, she left.

The room lay silent and empty for long moments before the air shimmered, revealing a disheveled Hermione.

She unleashed a sigh. Luna was far stronger than she had imagined. The concealing spell had nearly broken both times she had employed the counter charm—it was only her iron will that had kept the shards of the spell together.

She hated to keep things from her but she knew that Luna wouldn't understand. Couldn't understand, because she was still whole, undamaged. Draco knew hate and knew how to use it. Hermione could sense that in him.

He could teach her the things that she needed to know, and the price he asked in return was inconsequential next to what she was learning from him.

A rat emerged from a hole in the wall and scurried across the floor. Casually extending her wand, Hermione cast the spell. "_Avada Kedavra_." An emerald light flashed and the rat died, eyes wide and tail extended. Closing her eyes, she lost herself to the ecstasy the spell released.

Indeed, she had already learned much.

* * *

_Currently_

Harry snatched a glass of wine that floated by on a tray and drank. He hated this. He wouldn't have been there at all but for Narcissa's stubborn reminders about his duties as the Head of the Black Family. He couldn't use the resources of the family while refusing to fulfill his obligations.

A quick look around told him that the other members of his party were otherwise engaged. Bellatrix's solicitousness toward Harry had been wearing thin, and when she had gotten ambushed by florid old wizard who seemed to be a friend of the Dumbledore family Harry had seized the opportunity to separate himself from her. He knew that it was an act, that she didn't really like him, that it was all part of Narcissa's master plan to win friends and influence people.

As it turned out, trying to find private time in the middle of a ball was not something easily accomplished.

"Milord Black, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

Monique stood demurely before him, her expensive shoulder- and thigh-baring blood-red robes and a black wrap leaving the Italian witch looking like a succubus on the prowl. Harry mused that these robes were probably as conservative as clothing got for her. She inclined her head toward the floor where couples were gathering for a ritual dance.

Harry nodded; this had been part of the plan. The series of formal dances gave Monique the opportunity to pass information discreetly to Harry, and apprise him of where he needed to direct his attention in his search for alliances. Harry thought that at least the first dance was something from England—even if it was Victorian themed—he certainly wasn't looking forward to the more exotic foreign dances. Lightly grasping Monique's hand, he stepped onto the dance area.

"I don't actually know this dance." Harry said by way of apology.

Monique laughed. "Most people don't, Harry. The instruments are enchanted. As soon as they start playing the song, the magic in the instruments will guide our steps."

Harry nodded and watched the stage. The musicians, tall and pallid, were dressed in black dress robes with yards of pale lace gathered at their throats and wrists. Each had an instrument of dark, polished wood that they strummed and played with single minded devotion. They seemed to be unaware of everything around them.

"They're musical adepts." Monique said by way of explanation. "They have limited powers, but they are truly gifted at the art of magical music and spell songs. It's a rare trait."

Harry nodded as he and Monique touched palms along side the other dancers, positioning themselves a few feet apart and looking at each other. When the music began, soft strings and flutes, Harry felt his body pushed by the magic, moving nearly on its own. Harry squashed the urge to shield his mind, instead speaking with Monique.

"What have you learned?"

"Not much. The Hundred Families are powerful, decadent and so interested in their own depraved vices that I doubt many of them even know who Voldemort is." Monique said disgustedly. "I've been approached to become the consort of no fewer than seven wizards old enough to be my grandfather."

Harry nodded but didn't reply. The music flowed through them and their feet followed the complicated set pattern of the song while their palms touched.

"You don't like me much, do you?" Monique asked unexpectedly as the music forced them into a complex spin.

"Well, you have insulted my friends, insulted all muggleborns, tried to love potion me with your perfume, and attempted to marry me yourself." Harry said dryly as the spin ended with the pair in switched positions.

"There is more to me than the scheming." Monique said Harry dipped her and held her in position.

The pretty girl gave Harry a sad look. "I admit that I underestimated you initially, but I hate that you think that I'm… please just know that what you have seen is not all there is to me. To remedy that, I would like to extend an invitation for you to come and celebrate Christmas Mass with me at the Vatican. I have been asked to sing for the Pope and I would dearly love for you to hear it as well."

Harry lifted her up and spun her around, only to dip her a second time.

Responding to the blatant need in her voice, Harry nodded his assent.

* * *

_A few weeks earlier_

Narcissa fidgeted

She hated being here, not only did it seem like a juvenile thing to do, but when the questioning eyes of Harry's study group turned to her she couldn't shake the irrational feeling that they were all going to see through her, that at any moment one of them was going to point an accusing finger in her direction and proclaim who she was.

Why wasn't her sister as nervous? Bellatrix stood beside her, tall and beautiful, occasionally waving to a giddy Colin Creevy. The skinny youth grinned hugely at her sister and Narcissa couldn't help but feel that somehow Bella had adopted a really annoying puppy.

Harry had gathered them together in the Room of Requirement for the first meeting of the new school year. They were supposed to discuss what they were going to do with the club… was it even necessary any longer? Bill Weasley was a perfectly competent teacher and they would probably learn all they needed from him—Narcissa had learned a few things already from the handsome redhead. Not least of which that he was fast on the draw, faster than she would have been without ritual enhancement and fast enough to catch her off guard, stunning her in a class demonstration.

Lesson number one: Even Weasleys with silly earrings were dangerous.

The young witch saw Harry staring at a pretty Chinese witch. A Chang, if Narcissa wasn't mistaken. She could read the loss in his eyes and something like regret in the girl's. Had they been in a relationship? Had it ended badly? Narcissa desperately pretended to not care about the answers that weren't forthcoming.

"Thank you all for coming." Harry said quietly. He looked around the room, meeting the gazes of various members of the club.

"You all heard about what happened at the end of the last term." He stated. "I called for help and Neville, Ginny, and Luna were the only ones to come." He held up his hands to stave off protests that erupted from a few Hufflepuffs. "I understand why you didn't come. I'm merely stating that those three have more experience than you lot. Practical experience fighting for their lives." His green eyes grew hard. "Experience that all of us are going to need sooner rather than later. You all know that Voldemort has come back… there's no more disputing it. A war has come and its one that we are all going to fight in."

"So what are we going to do." Called out a sandy haired Hufflepuff with a stubborn set to his jaw.

"Starting right now, Zack, we are going to start living up to the name Ginny gave us last year. We're going to be an army." Harry stated simply. "We can't afford to be kids any longer. We have responsibilities. Hogwarts will be a target, and we can't rely on the wards or the professors to protect us. We have to be able to do it ourselves, we have to be able to protect this place and the younger students."

"Does that offer of protection extend to Slytherins?"

Narcissa had seen the tall Slytherin Head Boy appear at the entrance to the room of requirement but wasn't sure Harry had, so intent was he on the students in front of him. Those same students parted and Harry was left staring at Nathaniel Gregory. The Slytherin had a small cluster of students standing behind him and the older youth stared back at Harry calmly, but forcefully.

"You talk a lot about standing together, Potter, but I only see three houses here. Are the Slytherins to be left out of your great army? Maybe you think us lot can't be trusted?" the Slytherin head boy said disgustedly.

Zacharius Smith, the sandy haired boy stood up. "You're all purebloods. More than half the parents of your house are Death Eaters. We can't trust them, Harry." He said, looking back to his leader.

"I'm not a Pure." The Head Boy stated flatly. "I was born on the East End and I didn't know a lick of magic till I was a firstie."

The boy's accent got thicker as he got angrier.

"The Death Eaters could come after me sister and me ma'm as easy as any other muggle. I'm going to figh' 'im and so do these guys. Every las' one of 'em is a muggleborn or halfblood excep' for a couple. And I kin vouch for t'em that ain't." The Slytherin Head Boy finished

Everyone looked at Harry. Narcissa watched the Boy Who Lived think, his gaze unreadable, even she couldn't know what thoughts were going through his head. He hated Slytherins. He hated everything about their house and their mindset. It would be easy to condemn them and not one among them would speak out against his decision. In a way it was awe-inspiring to see how much faith they had in him. More than a little terrifying as well. Hearts and minds were far mightier than spells.

When Harry spoke his voice was strong and without doubt.

"Welcome to my army." He said quietly.

The Head Boy and his students broke into big smiles and Narcissa realized that faith in Harry Potter could come in silver and green as well as red and gold.

* * *

_Currently_

Ginny Weasley crept along the darkened corridor, her newly sensitive eyes picking out details of paintings and statues that had been long since abandoned to dust. She held out her wand, ready to defend herself in an instant.

No one passed this way any longer—the help didn't even bother cleaning it. Here she could smell the age, the ancientness of the keep. This was where the library was located, abandoned. The One Hundred Families were so secure in their power that they felt little need to explore the ancient magical tomes of their ancestors.

Ginny stopped before a large silver door and blinked in confusion.

She had been prepared for any one of a half dozen things: a magical guardian beast she'd need to fight, wards she'd have to dispel, unlocking a sealed door…

Pretty much anything except a door that was already open.

Ginny didn't need to use a light spell, she could see just fine in the dark. Slipping past the heavy doors she entered the biggest library she had ever seen.

Rows and rows of books filled a room larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Magic was the only explanation for how the shelves could soar so high without tipping over.

She groaned, realizing that she would never be able to find anything in this vault. Not without an idea about how it was organized.

"Actually it won't be as difficult as all that." A voice said from behind her, startling the witch.

Ginny spun around as a tall and painfully emaciated albino stepped from the stacks, resembling a ghost more than a person. The man wore black muggle suit and a red shirt, which accented the long pale hair that fanned from beneath his Victorian top hat. A black cane with a silver handle tucked casually beneath an arm, his other hand held a slim folio in strong but slender fingers.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who enjoys reading and was dreadfully bored by the Ball." The man said in amusement. His voice was colored by an accent she couldn't place. "I believe you were wondering about the organization of the library?"

Startled at the man's apparent ability to read her thoughts, Ginny nodded. "Yes, I believe I was" she replied in a voice that belied her wariness.

The man motioned towards a podium holding a single sheet of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot. "Simply write what you are interested in on the sheet and the instructions to find it will appear."

"Thank you."

The man held up a single finger. A red gemstone flashed on the ring he wore there. Flashed like blood.

"I did not say that this information was free. I expect payment."

Ginny stepped back slightly. "What do you want? I'm not going to just…"

"Oh, but I have such a simple request." The man whispered. In a blink of an eye he stood in front of Ginny. She stepped backwards, frightened by the reflexes and speed he had just demonstrated. "I want to know what you are, Ginevra Weasley. I have lived a long time and never have I seen such as you. You _fascinate _me."

He drew the word out, seeming to savor it as if the word were a fine wine. His heavy pale brow wrinkled slightly and his intense red irises burned like coals.

"I'm just…me." Ginny stuttered out. The new power, the new confidence she'd been feeling fled as she stumbled backwards.

"You do yourself a disservice. There is nothing… simple… about you, my dear. But I see you are ignorant of your true nature." The tall man turned around. "We will meet again one day soon, Ginevra. Tell your Harry Potter that The Dracula is ready to treat with House Black… and that the price for my aid is _you_…"

* * *

_A few days earlier__  
_

Luna Lovegood knocked on the door forcefully. As she waited for a response, she straightened up, mastering her rebellious thoughts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dungeon door creaked open to reveal Severus Snape with a wand in his hand, the tip pulsing with sickly light.

"This had better be a matter of Death, Miss Lovegood." The potion master said harshly. "You have awoken me from a sound sleep."

"Tamara O'Malley. You know her?" Luna asked without preamble.

Snape nodded. "A first year that is perhaps not as hopeless as the rest of the lot. What of her?"

"I know she isn't in your house but you need to protect her." Luna said seriously. "People are targeting her because she is a vassal, and it's getting worse."

"Tell that to Professor Flitwick, he is her Head of House." Snape said dismissively.

"She likes you." Luna said. "She sees something in you that no one else does, Professor."

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "What, pray tell, might that be Miss Lovegood?"

"Your heart."

"Ask your friend Potter" Snape replied, "He'll no doubt confirm my lack of a heart." He moved to shut the door, but Luna stubbornly stuck her foot in the way.

"I know how you got to Hogwarts, Professor. I know the price you paid for magic." Luna said insistently. "Don't let Tamara make the same bargain with the devil for security. Please." She finished pleadingly.

Severus Snape met the gaze of the fifth year Ravenclaw and found himself unable to look away. Finally, reluctantly, Snape gave a minute nod of his head in response.

"I will do as you ask."

* * *

_Currently_

"So, does your Uncle still collect muggle sweets?" The old wizard asked Bellatrix. The wizened man had cornered her before she could get to Harry for the latest dance, asking her question after question about her Uncle Albus.

Questions that she had no clue about.

Answering evasively she tried to catch Harry's eye but the boy wizard was busily talking with Monique Black. Moving to corner her off, the old man—Ebenezer Mackenzie, Bellatrix recalled—poked her in the shoulder.

"You seem different. Wasn't there something Dumbledore told me about you from a few years back? Something about an attack?" He peered at her suspiciously through small round glasses and deep facial folds.

"I don't think so, sir." Bellatrix replied. Reflexively she reached for her wand. She wanted to get away from him, she didn't want to blast him away but she couldn't see an alternative and needed to escape.

"Is everything alright?"

Harry walked up beside her and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Mackenzie is an old friend of my Uncle's." Bellatrix explained. "He was just asking how he was doing."

"Professor Dumbledore has taken me on as his apprentice." Harry offered. "He's been teaching me Light Magic."

Ebenezer humpfed. "Hope you turn out better than the last one."

"I don't really see how I can turn out worse."

The old man laughed and after patting Bellatrix on the arm he wandered off.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Bellatrix smiled at her savior. "Yes I am, thank you." She snatched a drink off a floating tray. "It's hard to remember sometimes that I'm wearing a different face-that I'm supposed to be a different person now."

"Maybe after the war we can get you pardoned and you can go back to who you were before?" Harry said.

Bellatrix shook her head violently. "Maybe Narcissa can, but how can I do that? What would Neville or Colin think of me then? They like the new me, without the dark magic. How can I tell them who I was? Even if I'm sorry for what I did, and I am, I can't undo any of it. I can't make it better—not ever. No, Bellatrix—whether Lestrange or Black—is better off gone and forgotten."

Harry nodded and, seeing how far she had shrunken into herself, reached out a hesitant hand. Bellatrix saw what he was doing and leaned into him. He drew her in close and she rested her head on his shoulder.

Harry slowly stroked her hair and watched the Ball go by.

* * *

_A few weeks earlier_

The first DA meeting had ended and the students filed out singly and in small groups. It had been an unqualified success. Harry had always been a good teacher, but he had never been much of a leader and over the summer he had grown into the role his own legend had thrust onto him.

Along with the Slytherins, they discussed what they were going to be doing for the rest of the year. They all agreed that Bill Weasley was a competent teacher but that they could all use the extra practice, as well as training in additional spells that probably wouldn't be shown to teenagers. Harry tasked Narcissa and Hermione to find battle spells to teach the group—not dark spells, but battle spells. They would also begin training in the group-level battle magic from the books that Harry had discovered in the Black Vault. They would watch the group dynamics and see how things divided up so they could form some trusting groups that could work battle magic fast. It would require time, practice, and most of all trust to work sorcery like that and Harry didn't want to force anyone into groups with people they wouldn't trust.

In addition, Harry had taken stock of their various skills and abilities and he decided each member of the DA was going to get an emergency kit. The kit would include several preserved potions including healing draughts, a small dose of Felix Felicis—a potent luck potion—as well as a few tricks that the Weasley twins said they would work up. Harry would pay for the expense and each member of the DA was to carry the pack at all times—including the Quiddich field—so they would be ready in case of attack.

Harry, his inner circle and Nathaniel would lead the group and training. Narcissa had to admit that Harry's ability to get everyone on the same page and motivated was formidable, and would only grow as he got older.

"Neville, I'm going to set you up with an Animagus Potion as soon as you're ready." Harry said to his formerly overweight friend.

"Thanks, Harry." Neville said. "I'm just sorry that I missed out on the training with you and the others. But it was nice to be able to train with some of my parents' old friends."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Claire and Hermione can get you a copy of our training regime and the learning potion regime that we used to speed our training. Just remember," he warned. "Its a few days on and then a week off. There is reason why these potions aren't used as part of the curriculum."

Neville nodded.

"I'll get the things you'll need for the same rituals we took, as well." Harry added.

"Harry, you don't have to do that."

"I want to. You went with me to the ministry, Neville. You've done something most of these students might never do. Face down Death Eaters with bravery." Harry said with a pat of his friend's shoulder. "You are part of my inner circle and people know that. You'll have everything that comes with that responsibility."

"I'll make you proud of me Harry. I promise." Neville said. "When I get the bitch that killed Sirius and tortured my parents. You'll see."

His eyes still gleaming at the thought, Neville turned around and ducked through the entrance to the rest of the castle.

Narcissa walked up to Harry.

"You're going to have to do something about that." She said.

"I know." Harry answered wearily. "But what? 'Sorry Nev, the woman that tortured your parents. Turned out she's sorry and not such a bad person once you get to know her'. I'd think he'd AK me before I could finish the sentence, and I don't necessarily think he'd be wrong to do it."

Shoulders slumped, Harry walked through the door leaving Narcissa alone in the Room of Requirement.

She stared past the rows of books and defense objects and wondered, not for the first time, where this all would lead. She didn't know if Voldemort had learned of what had happened to her and Bellatrix, although the disappearance of his most loyal must have made an impression in even the Dark Lord's legendary self-absorption.

How long could they maintain this charade? And what would happen when it blew up in their faces? Because it would. She knew that, even if Harry was too young to realize that situation couldn't last forever. Truth will out, and this truth was too big to remain hidden.

As she thought the room changed around her. Shelves and books vanished, the mannequins melted away, and the room was laid bare, except for a large mirror in an ornate stand.

Narcissa blinked and approached the mirror, watching herself grow larger in the perfect reflective surface. Her reflection was so young, so vital, her face unlined, and not because she willed it so, but because time had not yet worn its furrows into her skin. The face she saw was not completely her own, but had not abandoned the Black character, either. She didn't possess the art to completely take on the features of Claire Dumbledore.

With a pale hand she reached out, stroking the glass gently. As her fingers touched her mirrored face, the glass rippled and the image changed. She still stood framed in the mirror, but it was the real her, her true face and coloring. She was still impossibly youthful and still vain enough to maintain it, but it was her true face rather than the mask she'd taken up.

In the mirror, she watched as strong a pair of hands wrapped around her slender waist, and so entranced was Narcissa that she didn't notice the absence of arms wrapped her in truth. She felt the weight of the man behind her, the weight of his lean body and the weight of the love he bore her.

Watching the mirror, Narcissa knew the face that would appear over her shoulder before it materialized. The green eyes that flashed like a curse capable of killing her loneliness, the messy hair that in the silence of her heart she longed to run her fingers through, the strong face that would only become stronger with maturity.

Harry Potter.

The refection of Narcissa turned to her husband and smiled, smiled with a feeling of love that her face had never seen during her marriage to Lucius. Her reflection reached out, touching her husband's face as though to assure her that he was real. As she did, children appeared. A boy with her coloring and his emerald eyes. An elegant daughter with dark hair and silver eyes and a winsome smile for her father and mother. A baby…

The mirror shattered against the far wall, shards of silver falling like razor snowflakes. It would never happen. Could never happen. She was too old, he was too young. They were different people from different worlds.

People like her didn't get lives like that—didn't want lives like that. Legions of children, little better than the Weasleys with their litters and painfully mundane lives. That wasn't for people like her. The halls of power, the lure of magic. Those were important…

Narcissa didn't feel the tears running down her face as she fled from the shattered mirror. She couldn't have recalled the moment she drew her wand, or even what spell she'd used to destroy the mirror. She knew nothing but the aching pain of her loss at the happiness time and fate had denied her.

Her pain was so acute that she failed to notice as the twisted frame of the mirror stood itself up and the fragments of glass ran like quicksilver in reverse, filling the frame again before solidifying.

True Desires might not shatter like glass, but they cut as deeply.

* * *

_Currently__  
_

The great wizard prison of Azkaban was located in the north Atlantic, far from prying eyes. Grim rocky isles, its surface void of landmarks save for the several spires of black iron jutting from a stone fortress. The weathered bastion looked less like a construction of men than a twisted skull, torn from the Earth and crowned with bones. It was ancient place. Ancient and terrible.

The castle was shielded by wards as old as wizardry itself, protections beneath which Azkaban had stood inviolate but for two exceptions: the first had been a desperate man named Sirius Black, and the second was the breakout of Voldemort's the most loyal. Perhaps they were early signs of weakening protections… perhaps it was simply the time for Azkaban to fall.

A man in a black trench coat and fedora appeared on the beach below the keep. He surveyed the building with jaundiced eyes shaded by the brim of his hat, his face breaking into a smile that revealed a mouthful of rotted teeth. His tongue, forked like a serpent's, tasted the air.

He could feel the wards of the island reacting to his foul presence, and he wasn't surprised when Aurors apparated behind him. He turned slowly, stretching his hands wide in a gesture of surrender. Sickly yellow light poured from his outstretched fingers, killing everything that it touched. Stepping disdainfully past his would-be captors, the man proceeded down the shore.

The air shimmered around him as he walked. Magical fire swirled and lightning flashed with every step as the wards of Azkaban fought him for each inch of ground.

His coat was not singled.

The hat was not removed from his head.

He was not slowed.

Not at all.

The slow Mage-Mind of the isle roused itself. The magic of the island had evolved over time to become quasi-sentient, and the pain the dark man's presence caused the island forced the quiescent intelligence from its slumber. Lashing out with its considerable power, the island manifested itself to battle the intruder.

But the evil would not succumb. Black claws raked the air as the island's avatar bled raw power, its lifeblood, into the sky. Hissing vile curses in an evil tongue as old as the fall of paradise, the man flew into frenzy, slashing and tearing at the magic around him. Experiencing pain in a way it never had before, the magical construct retreated, hiding itself from the thing that walked like man as it moved to the front gate.

He sang a song of dark power and the gate cracked. More guards appeared, raining down a hail of curses and charms that would have slain any mortal creature.

Though man-thing appeared mortal, it assuredly was not. The curses and charms did nothing, while waves of black fire and sickly light washed over the guards until they shrank into withered husks—immutable shells of men that still lived, if such could be considered living.

Searching with his mind, the man that was no man probed for more guards but found none. All he sensed, from all sides, was the rotting desires of the prisoners of Azkaban: sick desires for immortality, for pain, blood, and sex, for terrible knowledge without wisdom. The island reeked from the darkness leached from the millennia of prisoners that had lived and died there, the twisted remnants of broken minds and shattered sanities. He sensed lingering echoes of the dead, as well as the very real appetites and agonies of those that lived still.

Whispering words of power, the dark man called forth the energy of a thousand deaths, a thousand sacrifices. His eyes turned red as clouds gathered around the island as the world itself wept tears of blood.

Grabbing hold of each thought, each sick desire, the man shaped a gate for each of them, a gate that would take them were they most desired to go.

Madly, he recalled a voice from the ancient past. A quote by a man he had once listened to: "Let them go, for they were my people, and they would be delivered from bondage."

These were his people, the people of poison, of death, and they would be delivered to poison the world.

* * *

Moments later, the thing stepped into the light. He had done as he had been bidden. He had released the captive witches and wizards as a plague of madness upon the Earth, and his compact was satisfied.

He was free.

An old man stood alone in the courtyard of the wizard prison, his whimsical robes of deep blue adorned with a pattern of slowly moving constellations at odds with the stark austerity of the prison. He held a wand in one hand while his other was bandaged.

Despite the old wizard's frail appearance, the blue veins that traced his hands, the paper thin skin of his face, the man-thing could feel power, pure crystalline power that radiated from the wizard. He was of the Light. Raising cool blue eyes, the wizard of Light met the gaze of the dark man. He spoke demandingly in a strangely liquid tongue. A tongue that hurt the heart of the Dark Man.

The dark man slowly smiled. "I know you, Albus Dumbledore. You dare to challenge me in the tongue of the Elohim? You, a mere mortal who cannot possibly grasp the nuances of the heavenly tongue?"

"I dare." The headmaster said confidently. "I dare because you cannot respond in kind. The tongue of the Elohim is forever lost to you, is it not? I dare because I know you, Duke of Devils. You are Samiel, the Venom of God. You are a fallen prince of heaven and now a Captain of Evil, and I have slain your ilk before." Albus Dumbledore said with grave formality.

Even as Dumbledore spoke, Samiel began to swell. The edges of his flowing coat became great scaled dragon wings that cast deep shadows. His mouth grew thick with viper fangs and his hat became serpents that darted in and out of the locks of his hair. His legs grew together into a muscular serpent's tail tipped with a vicious barb.

Raising his arms to the heavens, the devil cried out sending a wave of blue fire crashing over Dumbledore.

The Light wizard slashed with his wand and the wave parted harmlessly around him.

Raising his wand to heaven he called forth in the tongue of angels. The clouds parted as burning sunlight seared the demon.

The dark creature hissed in defiance and the sky darkened once more. Mothers from a hundred nations wailed in one voice as their children were struck dead by the evil power wielded by the dark thing. Dumbledore screamed as pale yellow light splayed out from demon fingers.

Marshaling his might, the ancient wizard erected a barrier of holy light and the demon fell back as bolts of silver fire surged from within the globe.

The sphere faded and Dumbledore stepped forth. The old wizard was breathing hard and his wand shook in his trembling hand.

"You are doomed, Samiel. As Iblis was doomed. As all evil is doomed" he said heavily.

The demon laughed. "You have grown old Dumbledore. Time has made you weaker and you are no longer what you were when you slew the deceiver." Lashing out not with magic, but instead with his barbed tail he sent the ancient sorcerer tumbling.

Scrambling to his feet, Dumbledore realized with horror that he had lost his wand in the fall. The demon lord struck at the defenseless wizard, sinking barbed fangs into the flesh of his shoulder.

* * *

Dumbledore had never felt such pain in his one hundred and fifty three years of life. Agony wracked his soul as the demonic venom burned him from the inside out.

But he had not slain demons and Dark Lords by being unprepared. Touching a pendant wrapped in his bad hand he vanished, the devils howl of rage still echoing in his ears as he appeared in his private chambers at Hogwarts.

* * *

Ron watched Harry as he shared a laugh with Marie Dumbledore. She playfully shoved a piece of food into his mouth and he swallowed it before wiping his mouth on her sleeve.

Ron didn't understand why Harry was going through with the charade that Marie was his consort, but he figured it probably had something to do with avoiding marriage proposals. He knew that a lot of the ancient houses didn't exactly do things the modern way and that Harry probably just wanted coverage to prevent someone from forcing him into something.

For all that he didn't know, Ron did know one thing. However it had started, it was becoming something far more real. He didn't think Harry realized it, and maybe not even Marie—though in his experience women were good at spotting that sort of thing—but it was there and it was growing.

A small part of him held out hope that Harry would become his brother-in-law in truth but he realized that it was increasingly unlikely. Ginny seemed over him, and Harry was obviously smitten.

Besides, Ginny had been acting so strangely lately that Ron was starting to doubt if she would be a good choice for anyone.

Ron was still deep in thought when a House Elf appeared in a flash of gold light, said something to Harry, and then vanished with the Boy Who Lived in the blink of an eye.

* * *

"_Harry Potter is needing to come to the Headmaster's residence."_

"_I don't know were that is."_

"_I is bringing you."_

They reappeared in a large stone room. Paintings and bookshelves covered the walls and a fire roared in a stone fireplace. Harry looked around. This was clearly part of Hogwarts, but he had no idea where it could be. Somewhere underground?

A sour-looking Snape walked into the chamber through a door Harry hadn't noticed. His black robes looked wet, as though covered in water. "Potter." He greeted curtly. "Against my advice, the Headmaster has insisted on your company. Try not to tire him with your inane questions."

"Tire him?"

Snape's features softened fractionally. "He is gravely wounded. There was a breakout of Azkaban and he foolishly attempted to stop it." He pointed through the door he had just come from and Harry slowly started towards it.

He stopped when Snape placed a hand on his arm. "I have a question, Potter."

"What?"

"Are you truly paying for your vassals to attend Hogwarts?"

Harry looked confused. "Yes. Of course I am. I'm paying for all of my vassal's children to go to the magical school closest to them. I'm even starting a school for the older children and younger adults."

He watched Snape look at him as though for the first time.

For a long time the potion master was silent, and then he spoke softly repeating his earlier advice. "Though that door Potter, and do not fatigue him."

* * *

It was cast in darkness and as his eyes adjusted he saw a figure tossing back and forth on a bed. It was Dumbledore. The old wizard looked feverish and bright eyes captured Harry.

"Come, come here." he commanded.

Harry approached and even though he steeled himself, he nearly gagged at the smell. Putrefying wounds filled the air around the bed. The sickly sweet smell of rot came from beneath bandages leaking black blood.

"What happened?" Harry asked. He wanted to weep at the sight of the mighty wizard brought so low, so weak and helpless. This was not the way Albus Dumbledore was meant to die.

"Devil." Dumbledore answered weakly. "The Black Order summoned three Devil Dukes to destroy Azkaban, Alcatraz and Akuma. I was arrogant… I thought I could destroy him the way I destroyed Iblis in my youth." He coughed and black sputum speckled his beard.

"Save your strength, Headmaster. You have to get better." Harry whispered intensely.

"No," Dumbledore said hoarsely. "I'm dying Harry. The venom in my body is demonic, not even the tears of a phoenix can heal the unnatural. I grow weaker by the moment, and I will soon pass. It has taken all of Severus' skills and my magic to maintain as long as I have."

Lunging forward with sudden feverish strength, the headmaster grabbed Harry. "You must listen to me, Harry. I know I have wronged you, but you must listen. I will not have time to train you as I had wished." His blue eyes burned with nearly physical heat and met Harry's gaze unflinchingly. "I have put in motion a plan…"

Something powerful grew behind the feverish glaze of the older wizard's eyes. Something… silver… fire that burned with great power. Harry could feel it pushing outwards…

"No" Harry said angrily as he broke the grip of the old wizard. "No plans. No setups. You aren't going to die. You can't."

Dumbledore fell backwards against his pillows—the energy fleeing his body in a flash. "We all die, Harry." Dumbledore said tiredly. "Let me die with some purpose. I still have much to give you, and neither the time nor the energy left…"

"I don't accept that." Harry hissed.

Spinning around on his heels he walked swiftly out of the room.

When he came out he saw Snape was sitting at a desk searching through a thick book. With one hand he rubbed the teacher rubbed his temples. He glanced up when he heard Harry and for the first time Harry saw his most hated teacher as a human being—a man pushed to the limits both mentally and emotionally.

"I know how to save him." Harry said.

"There isn't away to save him." Snape spat back. "Regardless of what you think of me, I don't want the Headmaster to die. I never have. I have tried everything, but daemon venom has no antidote."

"What about this?"

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the small box that never, ever left his person. He flipped open the lid and showed the potion master what was inside. Severus Snape was rocked backwards by what he saw.

"A Philosopher's Stone--How can this…" He whispered in awe.

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled. "I have a plan. It's a bit crazy but I think it will work. Before I propose it though, I have one question."

"What is that?" Snape asked, his eyes never leaving the legendary item.

"How are your De-aging potions?"

* * *

Read and Review. I am particularly curious about what people think about Narcissa and the Mirror.


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